


A Portrait of Albus' Reflection in the Mirror of Erised

by whisperofyourheart



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Heavy Angst, M/M, Male Friendship, Romance, Tragedy
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-09-02
Updated: 2017-11-05
Packaged: 2018-12-23 03:29:08
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 5
Words: 23,210
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11981175
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/whisperofyourheart/pseuds/whisperofyourheart
Summary: This is a story examining the Dumbledore x Grindelwald relationship in its infancy, how Albus fell in love with Gellert, the "Greater Good" ascent to power, and how it all fell to shambles... Rated M for lime (mild sexual content), slash romance, and dark themes. It seems to go without saying; nevertheless: All original material belongs to J.K. Rowling I'm just borrowing her magic. :)





	1. Prologue

The Beginning.

Godric’s Hollow was a town laid to waste by the frequent English chilly spells that froze the twisting grapevines crawling over crooked fences. Heavy rains melted the ice ponds, creating little puddles in the grooves and ridges of the dusty cobblestoned streets. It was a labyrinth of narrow, jutting roads, each with a stray cat that would chase rats across streets, dodging rattling carriages pulled along by sleek brown mares. Each wrought iron gate belonging to some handsome estate had its own personality. It was a town that had witnessed history depicted in the school children's little brown books-- all the bloody sieges and mutilated bodies on English soil, the serfs toiling under the heavy hot sun and the interchanging smiles at the Princess Queen and now to this wet and rainy day in mid-June. It was a typical West County day of softly pattering raindrops on windows and babies suckling on their mothers' breasts, fathers reading the paper all in symphonic harmony to the backdrop of tinkling china and whistling kettles.

Do not be deceived, for Godric’s Hollow could not be further from your ordinary small town in the West of England.

You see, at the turn of the 11th century, Godric's Hollow opened its door to a young man carrying a secret. And ever since, the dust rising up at the sides of the road became thicker, and the air sometimes became colder, and there was an indescribable sense of strangeness. Words aren't sufficient-- it was the unavoidable feeling of something great and ancient which permeated the senses of all the folk who lived in the small town.

Gellert Grindelwald arrived to this inconsequential yet great town like the ravaging gusty winds that characterized the end of spring time. He came as an inconsequential boy of seventeen with ambitions of a great wizard.

One moment, the morning carriage had rattled round the corner of the street, leaving a cloud of dust behind it-- the next, the dust had dissipated to reveal a dark silhouette, billowing cloak fluttering around rumpled ankles. A boy, teetering on the verge of manhood, with a well defined jaw and cheekbones but with the remnants of youthful roundness about his cheeks, emerged from the cloud. He had a shrewd look about him that suited his enigmatic entrance, and a certain mischievous glint to his eyes that spelled strife.

Behind the boy was a house, a low, stooped brown cottage that belonged to one old damsel named Bathilda Bagshot. Mrs. Bagshot, as the other folk in Godric's Hollow knew, was a spinster who had lived alone for twenty years, ever since the mysterious death of Mr. Bagshot when he'd left for a business trip to a country in Africa. It was whispered she had gone a bit batty ever since, although there wasn't much to be said for that; for Bathilda Bagshot had the same air surrounding her that had once surrounded a young man carrying a secret centuries ago.

As soon as Gellert appeared, the gate to the brown cottage swung open and it was Mrs. Bagshot who came hobbling out in her customary black cloak.

"Gellert!" she said, her voice quavery and rather high pitched. It sounded as if she hadn't used it in a long time. One bony hand reached out and gripped the boy’s arm in what seemed to be for him a trying display of affection.

"Hello, Aunt Bathilda," the boy, who was apparently called Gellert, replied politely.

"Your parents told me that you were expelled! What were you thinking, boy? Well never mind that, it's been a long journey--"

"Not particularly-- I apparated--."

"--sure you must be starved, I'll have the casserole and pie out of the oven in no time, though your sheets haven't been warmed yet--"

Miss Bagshot continued to babble unendingly, maintaining her steely grip on Gellert's arm as she guided him through the front yard garden to the front door.

"--and I always did tell them Durmstrang was no good, but they wouldn't listen to me and see now I've been landed to teach you! Bother, I'm an old lady who deserves nice long days free of magic. I'm quite finished with my work here. Gellert, in due time when you've grown old and your bones are rotting like mine you'll understand. Now, if you go upstairs, turn right on the landing and you'll find your room the second on the left. I'm afraid, like I said before, the sheets aren't warm yet but I'm daresay you'll find it agreeable. And one last thing before I-- I, Gellert, dear? Is something the matter?"  
Mrs. Bagshot realized that the arm she had been gripping had vanished. Gellert stood some feet away from her standing apparently transfixed by the sight of one solitary book on the window sill.

"Who would've thought…" he murmured, a sly smile tugging at the corners of his lips.

"Hmm?"

"Aunt Bathilda, you have a lovely mimbulus mimbletonia, though it could probably use a bite of frog spawn."

Miss. Bagshot chuckled. "Now, Gellert. I think I know what this is about. But let me tell you this, flattery won't work! So no, you may not use the floo power at your leisure. I'm under strict orders from your father to keep you in this sad old village. Now run along."

But Miss. Bagshot had made a mistake. It wasn't the pot of shimmery green power that Gellert had had his eyes on. It was the book beside it, the faded brown cover decorated with a most peculiar symbol; that of a triangular eye-like shape, encompassing a crudely drawn stick.

When Miss Bagshot had left the room, Gellert strode across the room and picked up the book with the candid curiosity and naive confidence of a young child.

Thumbing through the book, he rifled through the pages rapidly until his eyes fell upon a paragraph that caught his eye.

".. _.First recounted in the ever popular The Tales of Beedle and Bard, the legend of the Deathly Hallows has fascinated wizards and witches all around Europe since the book's first publication in the 15th century. With no shortage of ambition, many of these wizards have attempted to find the trio of immortality, power, and secrecy-- ignoring, to the chagrin of others, cautions on the futility of the task. Indeed, the very existence of the Deathly Hallows has been doubted-- after all, its tale was publicised in a children's story book. Still, Hallows enthusiasts remain firm in their conviction that not only do the Hallows exist, but the destroying of their transparency must transgress. Possession of the objects woven by Death himself is a worthwhile pursuit… but how are we to begin to find these evasive and enigmatic objects of power?"_

"Yes, worthwhile…. yes…" Gellert murmured to himself as he snapped shut the book. The dust had fallen away during his perusal, leaving only a dog-eared and worn out book with peeling leather and bent pages-- a book that looked ready to be perused and read time and time again by its owner.

He pointed his wand at the book and tapped it twice.

 _"Geminio_ ".

  
An exact replica shimmered into existence. Grinning, Gellert carefully placed the clone next to the woefully neglected mimbulus mimbletonia on the window sill and stowed the original copy into his robes.

Behind the windswept locks of golden hair were eyes alive with hungry excitement.

"Gellert! Where are you? Come down the hall and put your trunk down in your room." Miss Bagshot's thin voice could be heard echoing and bouncing about the thin drafty walls, creating the impression that three Miss Bagshots were speaking all at once.

"I want to call on some of the neighbouring wizarding families this afternoon," she said, hobbling back into the kitchen, her voice returning back to normal. "Many lovely people who I daresay you'll find quite interesting… if I'm not mistaken there should be a few boys around your age as well… "

After Gellert had levitated his trunk to his room and performed a nifty charm on the casserole and pie that had, quite forgotten by Miss Bagshot, burnt around the edges in the oven, Miss Bagshot steered Gellert out the brown house, out of the wrought iron gate, letting the gates close behind them with a definite click.

Like how other children fell asleep with sweet dreams of love potions and Honeydukes sweets, Gellert Grindelwald went to sleep with thoughts of indomitable, ever conquering power. He yearned for it during his infancy, his childhood, and his days as a student at Durmstrang.

And now, as an adult, he thought of it incessantly, obsessively-- every thought invariably laced with images of himself holding the Elder Wand, the Resurrection Stone, and the Invisibility Cloak.

Gellert Grindelwald, the Master of Death, the most powerful wizard to ever walk the earth, he thought in his head with relish.

He who now walked down an innocuous road, in an unsuspecting English villiage looking the very picture of innocence, accompanied by an oblivious old witch. But beneath the handsome face and charming demeanour was a thirst for power-- the bottle had been broken, the ambition pouring forth uncontrollably, the magical blood coursing through his veins pulsing and throbbing with anticipation.

And so our story begins.


	2. The Dumbledore Family

On the same afternoon Gellert Grindelwald arrived in Godric's Hollow, Kendra Dumbledore was residing in her two story colonial-style dwelling just five houses away from Mrs. Bagshot's residence. She was standing by the fire where a cauldron of water was boiling. Outside the rain pattered on the window intermittently. Kendra Dumbledore sighed, her gaze drifting from the bubbling hot water to the small vegetable garden outside. Several rows of radish, carrot, tomato and pumpkin plants were rapidly growing in size due to an engorgement charm Ariana had accidentally set on them earlier.

No sooner had her thoughts strayed to her daughter than the very young girl in question came sidling in through the kitchen door.

"Mum?"

Despite the troubling thoughts plaguing her mind, Kendra's tired, brooding visage broke out into a faint smile at the sight of her youngest and only daughter.

"Come here darling," Kendra ordered softly. The girl ran into her mother's arms and Kendra wrapped her arms around the girl's small frame, stroking the long golden locks that spilled over her shoulders.

Of Kendra's three children, Ariana alone had inherited her own flaxen hair. The two boys, Albus and Aberforth, took after their father Percival in almost every respect-- thick unruly auburn hair that seemed to grow faster than the plants in the vegetable garden, long sloping noses, thin faces and bright blue eyes.

At the thought of Percival Dumbledore, Kendra faced darkened and the corners of her mouth tightened.

"Mum, when are Albus and Aberforth coming home?"

"Tomorrow night, dear," Kendra said distantly. "They're very excited to see you soon."

"Is father coming with them?" This, spoken with a slight tremor.

Kendra’s brow furrowed. She got up suddenly and walked over to the stove so Ariana couldn't see her expression.

Kendra was silent for a long time. Eventually she said evenly, "No, he isn't. Not tomorrow night. Go back to your room, tea will be ready soon."

Ariana didn't know where her father was, exactly, but she knew that it must be a horrid place, because mother and the boys always became distinctly upset whenever the topic of Percival Dumbledore was brought up.

She also knew, with her keen child's sense of intuition, that it was somehow her fault.

It had been seven years since when Percival Dumbledore was hauled off by Ministry authorities, never to be seen again. It had happened so long ago-- yet it seemed not very long ago at all. The pain of having him stripped away remained fresh in the grieving family he left behind. There would be no forgetting him, it seemed.

His trial had been a trying affair; Kendra, his wife, had not only remained steadfastly by his side through the whole process but also tended to the needs of the children, who were frightened and confused by the novelty of the adult world and the possibility that their father might be taken away from them. Then there was the entire wizarding community-- a horde of gossip-hungry vultures, Kendra had once thought angrily to herself. The Daily Prophet had been relentless, publishing vicious slanders and angry diatribes for Percival Dumbledore's purported crimes, no doubt influencing a good number of the jury members as they deliberated.

At the end of the trial, the larger half of the jury voted Percival "guilty" and charged him with three accounts of assault and a breach of the Criminal Code for the Concealment and Separation of Muggles. It had cost the Obliviator Headquarters nearly insurmountable effort to erase the memories of the three Muggle boys who had been victim to Percival's attacks, and even more collateral damage to tend to were the injuries they had retained.

Perhaps the three children may have had their father back if it weren't for the fact that Percival Dumbledore had crossed forbidden territory-- he'd used an Unforgivable.

The Cruciatus curse, known to inflict lasting mental and emotional damage on its victims, was particularly abhorred for this very reason. A person who has tasted the unthinkable torture will never truly forget it-- the ghost of their pain and anguish haunts them forever.

So in the eyes of the jury and the solicitors, indeed in the eyes of every witch and wizard in Great Britain, Percival Dumbledore was a cruel and sadistic Muggle-hater who had lashed out at three innocent, unsuspecting young Muggle boys. They would now be invariably and permanently linked to one of the darkest aspects of magic.

The sentence was life in Azkaban.

Life in Azkaban… As she heard the words ring out shrilly in the vast courtroom, Kendra Dumbledore's vision blackened and her knees buckled. She managed to catch herself before she fell to the floor. She found herself staring at something, which she registered belatedly were her hands, and the sounds of the courtroom had become a distant hum.

How could it be? She would never see her beloved husband again. She would never be able to see him, or hear his voice, or feel his strong and assuring arms around her. Percival would never get to see young Albus, just days away from his 11th birthday, board the Hogwarts Express as the first of their children to embark on the great educational journey. He would never see Aberforth learn how to mount a broom for the first time, or watch Ariana grow into a beautiful young lady. All at once, the Dementors’ horrible presences didn’t matter. Kendra’s anguish was such that even a thousand Dementors would be better. Everything that existed was inconsequential--trivial-- it all melted away, leaving her locked in a prison cell with her own boggart.

As if she were submerged deeply in water and hearing everything muffled and contorted, a loud shout from somewhere within the buzzing crowd of shocked spectators and gleeful reporters brought her to the present. In a trance, she lifted her head and watched her husband have his hands shackled, two Dementors flanking either side of him.

Just before Percival was hauled out the courtroom, he locked eyes with Kendra and on his ashen face, there was pain, anguish, and an ample amount of fear—oh yes, fear such that even a mighty Gryffindor such as himself couldn’t escape. But there was also a look of flinty determination and pride in his steely blue eyes, as if to say he was unrepentant of what he had done, and willing to reap the consequences of his actions.

That was the last memory Kendra had of her husband-- his blue eyes searing with tenacity. If there was nothing else to be grateful for, she could linger on the thought of him being brave for her until the end.

Still, the whole affair was horrible-- traumatizing for the children. Kendra didn't resent her husband for his actions but she rued and lamented the day it had all begun.

She sighed, her mind reeling away from the past to the present as the cauldron of boiling water became in danger of overflowing. She quickly extinguished the fire with her wand.

She missed her husband terribly, achingly, but it could never compare to her children's losses. They had lost their father-- forever.

A loud crash from within the house startled her out of her thoughts. Kendra rushed upstairs to find Ariana whimpering in the corner of the bathroom. She had shattered the mirror with the magic coursing uncontrollably through her veins, wreaking havoc through her small body. Shards of broken glass lay scattered on the floor. A small piece had cut Ariana when the bathroom mirror broke and a dribble of blood now fell from her soft cheeks to her shaking hands below. Kendra took out her wand.

“ _Reparo_.”

The pieces flew back together, leaving the mirror pristine as it had always been. Ariana's whimpers had broken out into quiet sobs. Kendra summoned the bottle of Murtlap Essence she kept in the cabinet and set to working on Ariana's cut. She sat there, comforting her daughter, just as she’d done a hundred times from the day Percival Dumbledore left the family forever.

* * *

The Hogwarts Express was attacked by an onslaught of typical Scottish rain sometime during mid-afternoon. Rain beat down heavily on the scarlet red roof of the train, creating a cacophonous symphony of sorts that was very familiar to the young witches and wizards who were now creating a riotous symphony of their own to rival that of the rain. A group of rowdy seventh year boys from Gryffindor threw all caution to the wind and gleefully set to breaking all the rules—after all, they had graduated now, what could the school do to them? _Expel_ them? The idea was laughable.

Creating quite the ruckus, they broke into each of the compartments, flinging dungbombs at unsuspecting groups of students, throwing exploding snaps into the hallways, jinxing Slytherins behind their backs and then laughing quite loudly and unforgivingly when their targets hit the mark. The vengeful Slytherins would then set about rectifying their newly grown antlers or tentacular arms—but not before hitting a jelly legs jinx at their pursuers.

In the far south of the train was a quiet little compartment inhabited by a lone student. Quite removed from the antics of his fellow graduates was a remarkably lanky boy with brilliant blue eyes and long, overgrown auburn hair.

Albus Dumbledore sat in an empty compartment on his own, his face buried in a book with his long nose brushing the pages as he read. At this moment, the compartment door slid open.

Enter Elphias Doge, Albus’ friend of seven years-- a smallish boy with a pasty complexion and a bumbling but patient personna.

It would have been very difficult to tell he was nearly eighteen if it weren’t for a most misplaced object of sophistication upon his black robes. Elphias took out a gold watch upon which there were twelve hands, no numbers, and little planets moving around the edges, glanced at it, then tucked it back into his breast pocket with a little pat. He greeted his friend quite cheerfully then stepped hurriedly into the compartment to escape the chaos in the hallways but was hit in the head with a curse just before he closed the door.

“I say! Their school days are done and they’re still carrying about in this manner,” said a rather disgruntled Elphias. “I’d expect now that we’re part of the real world, they’d behave more like adults, and less like children.” And as if to prove himself, he sat down on the plush seat with a dignified look about him which was much undermined by his small stature.

“I’ve checked, and we’re four hours away from London. Goodness, how times have passed! It seems just yesterday I was saying the same thing to you, only we were going to Hogwarts to start seventh year… I was just think--Oh bother, what have they done this time… oh, not this again…” Elphias’ face was bursting into large red boils that in a matter of seconds formed a pattern on his face that read DUNCE.

He took out his wand and accidentally jabbed one of his boils in the process. Wincing, he cleared his throat and recited the counter charm.

Nothing happened.

“Albus…” he glanced towards his friend sheepishly.

Without so much as glancing up from his book, Albus swished his wand silently and the boils disappeared.

“Cheers,” said Elphias relievedly. “What’re you reading there, old chap?”

Albus looked up from his book then, and a genuine smile broke out on his placid face. “Egypt, dear Elphias. I’ve been reading up on all the places we plan on visiting and they’re all utterly fascinating.”

“What’ve you learnt about Egypt, then?” asked Elphias eagerly.

“Well, we learnt from Professor Binns that Cleopatra was the descendant of the great witch Morgana, who was the first to manipulate some of the elements of the atmosphere.”

“Sand, copper, and iron,” recited Elphias with a slight cringe, whose last History of Magic NEWT exam was still horrifyingly fresh in his mind.

“Precisely. But did you know that the power to command these elements soon became a hereditary gift? There are witches and wizards-- the descendants of Cleopatra-- who are the masters of these elements.”

“The masters?”

“They don’t need their wands, much less an incantation. The sands of the Egyptians desert simply bend to their every will. Perhaps that is the secret to how they built the pyramids so rapidly and successfully.”

“They don’t need their wands?” said an astonished Elphias. “Why-- it’s not possible. There have been cases of wizards performing singular spells without their wands in moments of peril but to be the possessor of an element of the universe…”

“Amazing, isn’t it?” said a smiling Albus. “The more I read of the magical communities that live in different parts of the world, the more I realize how much we Brits have to learn from others. Imagine, _just imagine_ , if we could learn to become masters of not only sand but air, water, fire... “

“We can,” Elphias pointed out. “It’s a simple spell, isn’t it? For fire, I mean. “Incendio”. After all-- Oh! Oh dear! Oh no, I didn’t meant to-- goodness, that’s quite a fire. _Where’s_ my blasted wand?”

A small fire now blazed merrily on the seat cushion that Elphias’ wand had been carelessly pointed at. It spit out cheerful sparks like a firework, and fumes filled the room, making both boys choke and cough.

Elphias waved his wand, aghast. “It’s been in my hand the whole time! Don’t worry, Albus, I’ll--I’ve forgotten-- ah wait, no, I’ve got it: _Aguamenti_.”

The fire went out with a sizzle beneath the thin stream of water issuing out of Elphias’ wand. As the smoke cleared, there revealed a gaping, charred black hole where the cushion once was. Smoke filled the little compartment as the two boys continued to cough uncontrollably. At this rather inopportune time, the compartment door slid open.

“Anything from the trolley, dears?” asked the beaming trolley lady. Then she doubled over at the sight that met her eyes. “My word! What’s happened in here?”

“Yes, I’ll have a pumpkin pasty,” Albus began hoarsely, but Elphias bounced up and slammed the compartment door shut.

“Nothing to worry about, just a little magical mishap! Ha! We don’t need anything, thank you!”

He returned to his seat, grimacing. “Now, erm, what were you saying earlier, Albus? About, er, fire or something of the sort..?” He took out a handkerchief and began dabbing at his watering eyes.

“Oh, yes. I was thinking we Brits could be even more powerful if we unveiled the secrets of all the magical communities in the world. And by the by, being able to cast “Incendio” is not being a master of fire, for you would still need your wand, as you most aptly demonstrated.” Albus’ eyes sparkled with laughter, while Elphias coughed in an attempt to cover his embarrassment.

“But, as I was saying: For instance, the theorem behind being a controller of the elements-- why, we could go beyond what the Egyptians have done and soon have utter control over all the elements of the world. Well, it would be wonderful if we could all come together and exchange what we know with each other, wouldn’t it, Elphias?”

“Oh, of course, of course,” replied the smaller boy, squinting. He was wiping soot off his spectacles on his robes rather vigorously.

“But I do believe,” he continued, placing his freshly cleaned spectacles back on, “Britain is still the best there is. We may be neck to neck with Romania in Quidditch, but we founded the best school in the history of witchcraft and wizardry: Hogwarts. And we've churned out more great wizards then anywhere else in the 19th century. You couldn’t deny that could you, Albus?”

“I could never deny how fond I am of the castle,” Albus agreed, cheerfully “But I’m sure students from Beauxbatons would likely disagree with you, Elphy.”

Elphias harrumphed, clearly not too concerned with the opinion of the French. “I suppose we will still visit France?”

“If you wish,” said Albus. He bookmarked his page in _The Myths and Mysteries of the Middle East_ and placed it to the side. “At any rate, I think simply learning about all the Ministries of Magic would be a good start. I wonder if they are structured similarly to our British ministry?”

“Never mind that, Albus. You ought to pick up as much as you can to take back to England when you become the Minister of Magic. It doesn’t matter how much you deny it, for you know it will be you someday.”

“My dear Elphias, as I have reiterated countless times, someone like me couldn’t possibly lead a country! A minister ought to have ideas-- opinions-- and strong ones at that. I only ever read books. It’s a mystery to myself as to why the Sorting Hat didn’t put me in Ravenclaw, as it seems it ought to have.”

The two boys laughed. Elphias looked at his friend with admiration in his eyes. “Well, I’m certainly glad it put you where you evidently belong: Gryffindor. I reckon I would have muddled my way through the years in a most unbecoming manner had it not been for you, Albus.”

“You’re a great wizard, Elphias. You only haven’t realized it yet.”

And the two young wizards spent the rest of the train ride-- their last ride on the Hogwarts Express-- in such a manner, in blissful anticipation of their impending tour of the world outside the castle walls, their undoubtedly bright futures, and the happy times to come.

* * *

Presently, at nightfall, the Hogwarts pulled into Platform 9 ¾ whereupon some students scrambled to change back into Muggle clothing, some hauled their trunks to the exits, shoving younger first years and second years out of the way, and some exchanged tearful hugs and words of affection and farewell with their friends.

Albus and Elphias hauled their trunks off the train and stood, looking at each other.

“I’ll see you in a fortnight, then,” said Elphias, nervously scanning the crowd for his father. At this moment, a gruff looking wizard in a porkpie hat and red velvet jacket waved in their direction.

“Ah, I spot him. Oh bollocks, he’s gone and tried to dress like a Muggle again. I always tell him not to bother, he does look so ridiculous! But no matter. I’ll be going, then.” And off he went.

“Until tomorrow,” Albus murmured, more to himself than to his departing friend. Then he spotted a yellow blur streaking towards him.

“Albus!” Ariana launched herself at her older brother and wrapped her arms tightly around his waist. Albus’ eyes betrayed only a second of shock; then he was as placid as always.

“‘Lo, Ariana,” he said, chuckling when she refused to let go. It was hard to resist his sister’s infectious spirit. He beamed at her and returned the embrace as Kendra came up from behind, smiling at her son.

“‘Lo, mum,” said Albus, letting go of his sister to kiss his mother.

“How was your last term, dear? We’re all so terribly proud of you. Oh, and where’s that brother of yours? He’s always the last one to get off the train, tut!”

“I expect he’s saying goodbye to his friends for the summer.”

“I daresay he has too many of them! Ah, there he comes.” And from the steamy fog surrounding the train emerged another Albus-- only slightly younger. The two boys could have been identical twins in their striking resemblance of one another but for the fact that Albus was slightly taller than his younger brother."

"Lo, mum,” said Aberforth, grinning cheerfully. He kissed her soundly on the cheek, then turned to his brother. “‘Alright’, Albus? Where’ve you been this whole time, reliving your exams to make sure you got everything right, I expect?” Without waiting for a reply, he turned his attentions to his younger sister and picked up her, to which she squealed delightedly.

“Well, shall we go then? Boys, you have your trunks? Good, _locomotor motis_. The portkey’s waiting for us. No dawdling about, Aberforth. You’ve had your time to speak to your friends.”

Even so, the younger Dumbledore son was bombarded by well wishers and friends as the family made their way to the wall separating the magical world from the mundane.

“See you next year, Dumbledore!”

“Alright’ mate? You have a good summer, then.”

Amongst the group of boys thumping Aberforth on the arm and ruffling his hair, a few nodded deferentially towards Albus and offered congratulations on his graduation.

“Hi, Aberforth,” came a warm feminine voice. A girl with fiery red hair and a delicate sort of face dotted with freckles stood before them, blushing as she met Aberforth’s eyes.

“Alright’, Finnegan?” said Aberforth, grinning.

“I just wanted to say goodbye for the summer, and, well, I’ll see you in September. Would it-- would it be alright if I wrote to you occasionally?” She blushed deeper as she said this.

“We’re going to miss the portkey, dear,” Kendra warned her son from a distance.

“I would be honoured.” He winked at her, causing the girl to turn a shade almost as red as her hair.

Kendra frowned at her younger son when they’d crossed through the barrier. “I’m not sure you should flirt about so, dear. Young girls are sensitive creatures, you know. I’d like to see more gentlemanly decorum from you. I don’t fancy you becoming one of those men who tease girls all the time.”

“Who, I?” said Aberforth a little too innocently. He smirked as Ariana giggled. “Oh, mum, next time let me take care of the luggage, wouldn’t you? I can take care of myself, you know.”

Kendra sighed; it was clear to her Aberforth wasn’t so keen to be responsible as he was to impress the pretty redhead they’d encountered on platform 9 and ¾. Not for the first time, her glance swivelled between the two tall, gangly boys that were her sons. They were the spitting image of one another, and yet couldn’t have been more different. She led the children down a dark alleyway behind King’s Cross station.

“You’re not of age yet, Aberforth. And keep an eye out for a discarded lady’s evening shoe, children,” she called out.

“Mum, I see it!” Ariana cried, tugging on her mother’s hand. In a dark corner lay an open toed black high heeled shoe that was faintly emitting a blue glow.

Kendra grasped the shoe. “Everyone, make sure you don’t let go. It shall only be another minute.”

The three Dumbledore children squeezed into a huddle as they each kept a finger firmly on the portkey. To a stranger who may have been watching, this would have appeared a very strange sight indeed, but as it was, the dark alleyway was deserted, entirely bereft of Londoners. It was a common site for wizards and witches commuting from King’s Cross to plant their portkeys in this quiet, unassuming alleyway.

Kendra used her free hand to maintain a firm grip on Ariana’s upper arm. “Nearly there, 3, 2, 1…”

Albus felt the familiar tug in his navel and shut his eyes as he felt himself being jerked into a tunnel of air. He opened one eye slightly and saw Ariana hanging onto their mother with her eyes shut tightly and her long flaxen hair blowing waywardly about.

As they landed on the grass hill overlooking Godric’s Hollow, Albus felt jubilation, combined with a queer sense of loss. He was home now, with the world as his oyster. The where’s and who’s and what’s that awaited him filled him with an intense, almost anxious sort of anticipation. Yet he would never go back to Hogwarts. It was his home no longer, though he could always visit in the future.

But it would never be the same.

The sun had set long ago; the sky was now a dark blue canvas upon which twinkling stars lay speckled and abundant. A crescent moon loomed from behind the remnants of the day’s stormy, gray clouds. As Aberforth and Ariana raced each other down the hill, kicking up dirt and grass in their wake, their laughs echoing across the valley, Albus fell into pace with his mother some ways behind them. His young face wore a grave countenance several decades too old for him.

“Mum,” he said quietly, “Why did you let Ariana come out today?”

Kendra sighed and looked away, either unable or unwilling to talk. Her face fell into lines of sadness.

“Mum,” Albus urged gently. “Why?”

“It was a moment of weakness for me,” she confessed at length. “Ariana hasn’t been outside in so long and the thought of keeping her cooped up any longer was just unbearable to me. What’s more, she begged so hard. I would feel as a murderer to keep her confined any longer. Today, I was willing to endanger a train station full of people for her happiness.” She sighed, then smiled wearily at her older son. “It’s the curse of being a mother. You love your children more than anything, even for the worse.”

She drew Albus close to her and kissed him. “But Albus Percival, you’re much too thoughtful for a boy your age. These are the sorts of things you must leave to your old mother to worry about. You ought to be getting into scrapes and skirmishes, as any other boy your age. I know since your father left…”

“I’m old enough to take his place,” Albus said earnestly. “As soon as I return from my travels with Elphias, I shall take up a job and help you support the family.”

“That’s exactly what you don’t need to do,” said Kendra fiercely. “As long as I’m here, there’s no need for you to start acting the man. Remember that. Now run in and wash up for bed, for it’s quite late.”

As Albus and Kendra crossed the threshold to their home, the former couldn’t help thinking, not for the first time, of another world, in which his mother was reunited with their father, Ariana could attend Hogwarts with her two brothers, and all was well and at peace… A world in which those Muggle boys never chanced to see Ariana’s magic, never even existed… He wondered if there was something in the world that could still save his family, anything at all… He felt as though he would do anything to obtain it, if it existed at all.

Five houses down from the Dumbledore dwelling, the home of Bathilda Bagshot was dark and quiet, save for the old lady’s rumbling snores. A singular window facing the backyard was the only sign of life, for within it, a single candle burned brightly, illuminating the dusty pages of a book that told of three legendary objects.

A dragonfly flew through the open window. It danced in front of the candlelight, casting dark flickering shadows across the pages of the book. Gellert Grindelwald gave it a cursory glance, then flicked his wand nonchalantly.

" _Avada Kedavra_ ”.

The fly fell dead to the floor. The candle burned interrupted. And no one but the moon and stars noticed the flash of bright green emanate from his window.


	3. The First Encounter

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Ok so there have been fan theories circulating around that Ariana Dumbledore was an Obscurial (no doubt from the Fantastic Beasts movie) and I find it quite convincing so I've tried to incorporate it into this chapter. I'm pretty much going entirely off of what I saw and gleaned from the movie. So... there's that. Just wanted to forewarn y'all. Enjoy the chapter :)

_In his dream, his childhood home looked dim and murky, a big blob of shifting color and indistinct shapes. He reached up and patted his face to see if he was wearing his spectacles; he was. Even so, his vision was still strangely impaired._

 

_But even with the general fuzziness, he could see the unnaturally thick black fog seeping through the cracks and crevices of his home. It looked oddly sinister._

 

_As the fog started thickening, he registered that his family was probably in there-- and they were going to be suffocated by this strange, unidentifiable smoke. Panic filled every particle of his being. He started running towards the house desperately, but he may as well have been running underwater; he couldn’t lift his legs, they were as heavy as lead. He opened his mouth to yell out, but his voice seemed to have vanished. He tried apparating, but only succeeded in spinning very slowly on the spot. The murkiness and fuzz pressed in on him, obscuring his vision until all he could see was the black fog in the distance._

 

_Somewhere in the back of his mind, he knew this was a dream. It didn’t stop the despair from filling his heart as he watched the fog rise up into the sky, obscuring the blueness of it and spreading to all corners._

 

_Somewhere in the back of his mind, he knew what was happening in his childhood home and he squeezed his eyes shut, hoping to wake up, to escape having to relive this horror beyond all horrors…_

 

_When he opened his eyes, he realized with a start of fright, that he was now in the interior his home; the black fog obscured everything, and only the faint outlines of kitchen he was so familiar with were visible. He took a small step forward and his foot hit something warm and soft. He looked down._

 

_His mother’s vacant eyes stared up at him._

 

_He wanted to scream. Horror and repulsion filled him. But as like before, he found his voice had vanished. He opened his mouth again and again to scream, drawing pitiful amounts of air with his lungs, which seemed to be struggling to work._

 

_His mother’s face was stark white, the veins in her temple bulging out. She looked as though her blood had been drained; she was so pale. Her eyes were horribly vacant, and glassy. A small dribble of blood had dried at the corner of her mouth._

 

_He wanted to move away-- her corpse was so ghastly. He found he couldn’t, and only continued staring at her blank face in silent horror. Then he looked up and noticed a familiar small figure with long yellow hair._

 

_Ariana staggered towards him, her mouth open in a silent scream, her eyes stretched so wide it was unnatural. He opened his mouth to reassure her, to comfort her, to tell her to look away at the horrible sight of their mother’s corpse, but then he noticed, with shock, that the black fog which had ostensibly killed their mother, was seeping out of every pore of her body-- her skin, her mouth, her ears, even her eyes. She was out of control, and there was nothing anyone could do. He couldn't help it-- he staggered back, trying to put as much distance between him and his sister._

 

_And her first human casualty lay upon the floor, before Albus’ feet._

 

 

Albus woke up slowly, his eyes fluttering open blearily. He did not sit up shaking and whimpering as he had been for the past two weeks; instead, he listened to the sound of his abnormally fast heartbeat gradually and surely slow down. When he was sure he felt reasonably steady, he slowly climbed out of bed and made his way downstairs.

 

His siblings were already up, sitting at the kitchen table, in the same positions they had assumed for the past two weeks. Albus suspected neither of them slept very much nowadays, if at all.

 

He silently walked over to a cauldron full of water and flicked his wand, causing the fire beneath to flicker to life. The warmth spread over him, but he found he didn’t like it… his clothes were still clinging to his skin from the cold sweat he’d broken into during his sleep…

 

At the sound of a small shuffle, Albus glanced back and caught a glimpse of Ariana’s tear-streaked, anguished face before she hid it in the folds of her skirts again. He quickly looked away, staring resolutely down at the cauldron of water.

 

He couldn’t bear to look at her. He couldn’t bear to see her young face in so much pain. He couldn’t bear to look into the sweet, pretty little face and see a killer staring back at him.

 

She was the spitting image of their mother. When he looked into her sky blue eyes, he saw only his mother’s glassy gaze, empty and vacant, staring at him from the floor of their kitchen.

 

When he looked at Ariana, love and hatred and sadness and guilt and anger rose up in him like tidal waves, and he found it was too much.

 

When he couldn't comfort her with words and tender gestures, he found himself sedating her with magic. It was shameful, but he'd never been able to calm her down the way Aberforth had. And he was determined that Aberforth would never find out how much he was struggling-- they'd already rowed when Aberforth had suggested withdrawing from Hogwarts. 

 

The truth was, Albus hated himself more than anyone. He hated himself for not being in the house at the time it had happened. He hated himself for standing there hopeless, appalled and completely at a loss as to what to do when he’d apparated into the kitchen.

 

He hated himself for not being able to save her.

 

For all his proclaimed genius, all those times people had told him he was a great wizard, he was still unable to save his mother from death’s clutches when it mattered. It was a grievous wound; if he wasn’t a great wizard, then he was nothing at all. If he couldn’t even lift his wand to save those he loved…

 

Albus flicked his wand, and the fire went out. The water was now boiling. He levitated three mugs from the cabinets, as well as three teabags.

 

The windows remained steadfastly shut.

 

For the past two weeks, the Dumbledore residence of Godric’s Hollow had been still and silent-- a graveyard house-- its doors locked and unwelcome to all outsiders. Once in a while, the other residents would glance rather worryingly at the red bricked house, straining and hoping to see a wisp of smoke unfurl from the chimney top, or perhaps a curtain be undrawn, and a window opened a crack.

 

But the lonely little domicile may as well have been empty and abandoned, for there was no sign that any life lived amongst those closed walls.

 

Yet the residents of Godric’s Hollow knew that there were indeed three people-- three children-- living in the house this very moment, which is likely what warranted the anxious glances and heavy sighs. They thought it most worrying indeed that the Dumbledore children should shut themselves in like recluses--particularly in this perilous moment in their lives!-- and reject the kind advances and generous offers from their neighbors.

 

But perhaps if they knew the truth, they would allow the Dumbledore children to remain shut in their house. Perhaps they would even stop passing by the house with good intentions and baskets of baked goods and preserves.

 

Perhaps they would move away from Godric’s Hollow altogether, believing the inhabitants of the red bricked house to be volatile and dangerous.

 

Inside that still and silent house, a morose mood now permeated the atmosphere. The heavy air of grief hung over the occupants of the wooden table placed in the center of the kitchen.

 

There was Ariana, sat curled up in a chair, her face hidden between her knees, a lifeless doll with vacant eyes and expression. There was Aberforth who sat next to her, holding her one hand in both his, his head bent to hide his red eyes and tortured expression.  

 

And there was Albus, sitting at the head of the table, now the official head of the house. He’d finished making the customary morning tea for them, but the three steaming mugs of chamomile lay untouched before them.

 

And Kendra, their beloved mother, was gone. For it was usually her who made them tea when they were ill or sad, who would stroke Ariana’s hair, wipe Aberforth’s streaming eyes, and sit at the head of the table, in the very chair Albus now sat. Hadn’t she promised Albus, just a few weeks before, that she would always be there to occupy that chair-- to look after them?

 

But she was gone now. She was gone forever.  

 

The funeral had been a week ago, and other than the awful magnitude of it all, the one thing Albus had found to be most aggravating was the palpable pity that seemed to be aimed at him and his siblings’ directions. All around him, the witches and wizards of Godric’s Hollow had cast sad looks at him and shook their heads gently as they took their seats. Of the handful of muggles who lived in the neighborhood, a few who had been on friendly terms with Kendra also attended, looking quite out of place amongst the large number of cloaks and pointed hats. Whispers like paper cuts surrounded him from all around, things along the lines of “ _poor creatures… orphaned at such a young age too… “_

 

_“I heard it was illness, but it doesn’t seem likely for Kendra, she did always seem so lively… “_

 

_“...not a clue, perhaps grief from Percival’s--”_

 

The plump witch who had been whispering this to her seated neighbor had stopped dead silent in the middle of her sentence at the sight of Albus, who was passing by. Resisting the urge to glare at her, he had forced himself to walk stiffly past, clenching his fists.

 

Elphias had been there too. He and Albus had been at the Leaky Cauldron, about to depart, when their family owl had arrived bearing the news that would undo Albus entirely. He’d apparated with Albus, back to Godric’s Hollow, witnessed the black fog that had killed Kendra Dumbledore.

 

To see his closest friend pitying him was, perhaps, far worse than receiving that of strangers.

 

“I’ll write you as often as I can,” Elphias had promised, his voice shaking. Albus had merely shrugged. He didn’t trust himself to speak. Already, the feeling that he was suffocating had begun spreading through his extremities, spreading through his body. He couldn’t bear to look at Elphias, knowing he would be leaving the country to go on adventures without Albus.

 

Naturally, the matter of Kendra’s death had to be kept a secret from the general public. Albus and Aberforth had come to an unspoken consensus that the matter would remain between the two of them until their dying days. The thought of their sister being taken away to Merlin knows where on top of their mother dying was unbearable.

 

At the time, Albus hadn’t been sure whether to let Ariana attend the funeral or not. Both he and Aberforth knew now that grief was one of her triggers, and he was justifiably afraid that she would have another uncontrollable outburst upon perhaps, seeing her mother’s casket being lowered into the ground, or seeing the rows and rows of black clad, morose looking witches and wizards. The very sight of those snivelling fools who had no idea as to the magnitude of his pain made Albus himself feel very violent and angry.

 

In the end, he and Aberforth decided to let her attend, but under a disillusionment charm, so that she wouldn’t be seen, and they warned her not to make a single peep.

 

Since then, the three Dumbledore children had shut themselves into seclusion. Albus had turned away all genial offers of help from their neighbors, including offers to cook for them, clean for them, and even, in the case of Wendy Crockford, take care of Ariana.

 

“Now, Albus, I’m sure this all must be awful for you so I was wondering if you need someone to perhaps take care of that little sister of yours while you and Aberforth sort out your affairs? I’m sure it must be tiring, particularly given that she’s, erm, well, not quite right in the--”

 

“No thank you,” Albus had said coldly, and shut the door on a rather affronted Wendy.

 

When he had time away from sorting out his mother’s will and handling the legal process involved in filing her death, he sometimes thought to himself, _why am I turning away from everyone?_ He initially thought it must be because he was protecting Ariana, but in moments when he was truly alone, he could be honest with himself and he knew it was because actually needing help for the first time was a discomfiting, unfamiliar feeling that was a severe blow to his confidence as a wizard. After all, he’d been Hogwart’s most brilliant student for the past seven years. He was the master of his craft-- a bender and shaper, a transfigurer, a creator, a talented and skillful wielder of magic.

 

But when it came to matters of the heart, of things that truly matter… he was no more worldly than a child. It frightened him, how much this had all unravelled him. For all the spells he could perform, none of it mattered, for here he was, with his mother and very likely his father, too, dead, and never to be brought back.

 

So he tried to pretend. He pretended he didn’t need help, pretended he wasn’t struggling, pretended he wasn’t completely lost.

 

But the cold, harsh truth was that he, Albus, who should have been scavenging the magical landscapes of Europe with Elphias this very moment, was stuck in his stuffy childhood house, with his wayward brother, and an ill and unstable sister. Nevermind learning new magic, the only spell he used nowadays was _reparo--_ Ariana had been prone to making glassware shatter lately.

 

And suppose she never became better? Suppose Albus would spend his whole life cleaning up his brothers’ messes and taking care of his sister?

 

It wouldn’t do. Somewhere in the haze of his grief and aftershock, Albus registered that he would have to do something, lest he go insane with his suffocating situation.

 

There must be a way for Ariana to be cured, Albus thought. There must be something out there that will help her, even if it hasn’t come into existence yet.

 

He was jolted out of his thoughts by the sound of the ringing doorbell. Praying that it wasn’t another neighbor come to check up on them, Albus left his siblings at their table and walked to the front door, wrenching it open.

 

“Hello, Albus,” a kind voice greeted.

 

It was Bathilda Bagshot.

 

“Good day, Professor Bagshot,” said Albus wearily. “What brings you here?” Normally, Albus would be quite happy to see the old lady. While she, like all their other neighbors, had had the door slammed shut on her when Kendra moved her children to town for the first time, she had always been kind to the boys regardless. When she saw them on the streets, she would always give them friendly nods and waves.

 

She had also graded Albus’ History of Magic OWL and NEWT papers-- both of which he had received top marks on. Normally, she was a reminder of all that he could accomplish in the real world. Yet now…

 

Mrs. Bagshot held up what looked like a rather ancient cookie pot. “I feel terribly for your loss, Albus. How are you getting along?”

 

“We’re trying our best to move on from this,” said Albus tightly. His hand, resting on the door handle, itched to close it. “But what we really need now is our privacy, so I must--”

 

“I understand,” said Mrs. Bagshot gravely. “I only really came over to deliver these biscuits. I can’t guarantee they’ll taste very good as they’d nearly burnt-- I’ve become so forgetful as of late, just a few weeks ago I nearly spoiled a batch too. Thankfully, Gellert is good with cookery and was able to save them in the nick of time-- but I feel just terribly for all of you, I truly do. Now, we’ll be on our way. I don’t wish to disturb you any longer.”

 

While Mrs. Bagshot had been speaking, Albus accepted the pot of cookies with a slight nod and somewhere in the midst of her speech, a most peculiar sensation stole over him. A strange mist of sorts filled his head, and a delightfully buoyant feeling filled his body.

 

_Invite her in._

 

Yes, of course he would… how could he not obey? He heard his own voice issuing out of his mouth saying, “Actually, Professor, this is quite lovely of you. Why don’t you come in after all?”

 

Mrs. Bagshot looked at him in surprise. “Why, certainly, if you don’t mind.”

 

“Not at all,” said Albus unwittingly, to his own bewilderment. It was as though someone were speaking through him. “Please, come in.”

 

He said the last part loud enough so that Aberforth would hear it and know to hide Ariana.

 

As he led Mrs. Bagshot to the foyer of the house, he could hear scuffling, followed by loud footsteps on the stairs, and then a slamming door. Albus frowned slightly in that general direction, hoping it had gone unnoticed by Mrs. Bagshot.

 

He’d been so preoccupied with the noises that it wasn’t until she had sat herself down on one of the armchairs that he noticed a second person, who had been by her side the whole time, presumably. A boy who looked around his age, with curly golden blonde hair the exact same shade of Ariana’s that spilled down to his shoulders, and mischievous eyes that no sombre expression could properly hide.

 

Perplexed, Albus levitated a pitcher of pumpkin juice and two glasses from the kitchen. “Erm, pardon me, Professor, but this is…?”

 

“Oh,” said Mrs. Bagshot, as though she’d completely forgotten she had a teenage boy in her tow. “I’d nearly forgotten. Goodness, what old age can do to you. I keep saying it! Actually, Albus, part of my reason for coming was so I could properly acquaint you with my nephew. Albus, this is Gellert Grindelwald. Gellert, this is Albus Dumbledore, the graduate from Hogwarts whom I’d mentioned earlier.”

 

Gellert inclined his head towards Albus ever so slightly. “How do you do.”

 

“It’s a pleasure,” said Albus, slightly unsure, as he leaned forwards to grasp the newcomer’s hand briefly.

 

“I thought you two could benefit from one another’s company,” said Mrs. Bagshot, watching the exchange with a smile. “You’re around the same age, after all. Gellert is sixteen and Albus, you’ve just turned eighteen if I’m not mistaken?”

 

“Yes.”

 

“As I thought. Now, I’ll be taking my leave. Gellert, stay as long as you wish. Only do come back in time for supper.”

 

“Thank you for visiting, Professor.” Albus saw Mrs. Bagshot out the front door with a slightly forced smile, still bothered by his previous inexplicable behavior. He was also rather resentful that she had forced unwanted company on him when all he wanted was to be alone. Of course, he knew her intentions were good-- she probably thought him lonely. But they were, in his opinion, ill-conceived…

 

As he shut the door, he heard the sound of low voices coming from the kitchen. When he went to check, Gellert Grindelwald was sitting on the chair that Albus had previously occupied, head cocked to one side, his eyes roaming about their kitchen. Sitting across from him was Aberforth, looking disgruntled and slightly annoyed.

 

Albus stopped, struck by how uncomfortable the atmosphere was. Aberforth shot him a look of annoyance.

 

He cleared his throat awkwardly. “Gellert, have I introduced you to my brother? Aberforth Dumbledore. He is three years my junior, and going into his fifth year at Hogwarts.”

 

Gellert smirked. “Yes, we chatted a bit while you saw Aunt Bathilda out.” Aberforth glowered slightly at this.

 

Unable to make anything of this strange exchange, Albus sat down at the remaining chair. He glanced perplexedly at his younger brother, who refused to meet his gaze as he was too busy scrutinizing Gellert Grindelwald.

 

Albus looked down at his laced fingers, then looked up to see Gellert Grindelwald staring at him. He stared back. The two older boys sat there, silently appraising one another. After a couple minutes scrutiny and examination, Gellert smiled in a lofty sort of way.

 

"I had to be careful around my aunt, you’ll understand. But we can speak freely now. Truly pleased to make your acquaintance, Albus."

 

"Er--likewise," replied Albus, rather surprised at his new neighbor's cordial manner. He had been so reserved before, yet this new charismatic personality now matched his appearance; the disconsonance was gone.

 

"Your recent tragedies and losses must be difficult on you. My deepest sympathies."

 

"They are very much appreciated," said Albus quietly. He was keenly aware of Aberforth's piercing blue eyes glaring at the back of Gellert's head. "I don't suppose you'd fancy some tea? Or perhaps pumpkin juice, there’s some back in the foyer--"

 

"Please, allow me," said Gellert, whisking out a dark green bottle from his robes. He waved his wand and three crystal tumblers came flying out from one of the cabinets, landing on the table with a slight clink. He popped open the cork deftly and poured a clear water-like substance into the three tumblers on the kitchen table.

 

"After intruding upon your hospitality, it's only fit that I provide the refreshments." he said, winking impishly.

 

Albus looked curiously at the liquid. He'd never seen it before and it neither smelled nor looked like any potion he'd ever seen. "What is it?"

 

" _Magnum Verto_ ," came Aberforth's voice from behind them. His scowl had become even more pronounced. "I've heard they let the students at Durmstrang drink it during mealtimes." He glared defiantly at Gellert, as if daring him to deny it.

 

_Durmstrang?_ Albus thought, processing this new piece of information.

 

"Well informed, aren’t you?," Gellert replied cheerfully. Apparently Aberforth's obvious disdain for him didn't bother him in the slightest. "I've developed a bit of a liking for it over the years. It's strong, fiery stuff. A potion brewed with a drop of lava from the deepest pits of the earth. If you're not strong enough it will burn your insides, like acid. But endure it and you'll become a stronger, better wizard. Go on then, Albus."

 

Albus, his curiosity getting the better of him, obligingly picked up a tumbler and took a sip. Gellert was right-- it was strong, and fiery, yet it gave Albus the impression that his lungs were filling up with liquid fire, the boiling lava and flames licking his ribs, snaking towards his heart. Frowning, he set the tumbler down.

 

"Not to your liking?" asked Gellert, watching Albus.

 

"I'm afraid I might not be strong enough to endure it," Albus said lightly.

 

Gellert laughed, a hearty infectious boy's laugh. "Surely you must be lying! Aunt Bathilda has told me you're an exceptionally talented wizard."

 

"Professor Bagshot is very kind to say that. I merely love to learn."

 

Gellert leaned forwards, suddenly much more engaged in the conversation. “She also says you’re a shoe in for the next British Minister of Magic.”

 

“So I’ve been told,” Albus sighed.

 

“And so?”

 

“So?”

 

“Will you take up the mantle? After all, now that you’ve graduated, you are free to pursue anything you wish. If Aunt Bathilda is being truthful, then Minister of Magic is not unfeasible for you.”

 

A dull ache spread through Albus’ sides, and he had a sudden vision of himself as an old man, trapped in his childhood home, taking care of an aging and unstable Ariana, with Elphias Doge as the Minister. Normally, the image of good old Elphy bustling about as Minister would have made Albus laugh, but now the image was so bizarre and depressing that he could do nothing but stare morosely back.

 

When it appeared Albus would not answer, Gellert pushed on. “Surely, you’ve thought of it. Talent such as yours does not often make an appearance.”

 

At this, Aberforth’s eye twitched. “How are you related to Professor Bagshot, again?” he demanded suddenly.

 

Gellert glanced up casually, twirling his wand in his hands as he spoke. “I am her great nephew, four generations younger. From my mother’s side of the family.”

 

While he said this, Albus’ eyes were drawn to the wand in Gellert’s hand. All at once, several puzzle pieces fitted together in his mind. The wand--Albus not noticing him at first-- and the strange feeling he’d had as though, most ominously, he’d been possessed by an external force…

 

“The Imperius Curse,” Albus blurted out, the revelation hitting him.

 

The two stared at him.

 

Unperturbed, Albus pressed on, “Earlier… at the front door, you used the Imperius Curse on me, didn’t you?”

 

Aberforth swivelled around to stare at Gellert, a look of shock on his face.

 

Gellert didn’t look abashed in the slightest. On the other hand, he looked rather pleased. “I was wondering when you would realize it. And quite quickly too, I must add.”

 

“It’s illegal,” Albus stated the obvious, trying to hide how shocked he was at his neighbor’s indifferent attitude.

 

“Yes, as it is in the North, and everywhere else I believe,” said Gellert, idly examining his wand.

 

“You-- you can’t just--” Aberforth sputtered incoherently. He swallowed and suddenly stood up. “It’s one of the Unforgivables!” he all but yelled. Then he suddenly gasped rather dramatically.

 

“If-- if you can do one of the Unforgivable Curses, then there’s no saying that you can do the other two as well!”

 

When Gellert said and did nothing to refute this, Aberforth blanched.

 

“You’re-- you’re a criminal! A fiend! Leave at once! If you don’t, I’ll-- I’ll use force!” And Aberforth drew his wand.

 

“Aberforth,” said Albus calmly, being careful not to betray how startled he was at the turn in events. Aberforth’s wand was now spitting red and gold sparks in his agitation. “Before passing death and judgment, we should hear what he has to say. I’m sure there’s an explanation. Gellert, why did you perform the Imperius Curse upon me?”

 

“It was a test,” said Gellert, his smile large and approving. Aberforth’s shaking wand was still pointed at him, to which he paid no heed. “Of your skills as a wizard, that is. I couldn’t just take Aunt Bathilda’s word for it, after all. I had to see for myself.”

 

“You could have simply asked me to demonstrate some advanced magic,” said Albus, still quite calm. He saw Aberforth open his mouth in protest and shot a warning look at him. Aberforth stilled, looking furious.

 

“I could have,” Gellert agreed. “But to perform a spell is only the most basic form of magic there is. It would not have unlocked what potential you may have. No-- what marks a truly exceptional wizard from an average one lies in the mind’s resilience. Legilimency, Occlumency; these are the most abstract and difficult forms of magic to grasp. Even becoming an animagus pales in comparison, for it is merely contortion of the flesh. But the mind is a labyrinth of endless intricacies and complexities. The great wizard is a master of his own mind, and of others’. He can probe the minds of others, without compromising the sacrosanct secrecy of his own.”

 

Gellert suddenly sat forward, looking at Albus with a sparkle in his eye. Something familiar flickered within his golden eyes that made Albus’ insides twist.

 

“There is no power in submission. To walk the path of greatness is to reject that of the mundane, and one cannot expect to become great without pushing the boundaries of magic, exploring the uncharted territories of the mind, discovering the previously imposed limitations and then make it so that they had never existed.”

 

Albus glanced at Aberforth, who had stowed his wand and now looked slightly confused. He looked back at Gellert, who had relaxed his previous stance and now leaned back on his chair, twirling his wand languidly.

 

“Of course, these boundaries and limitations include the law.” He sat back with a pleased look, as though he’d said something rather impressive.

 

Aberforth still looked confused, while Albus tried to identify the brief spell of familiarity he’d felt earlier.

 

All the talk about greatness… of course, he, Albus, had thought of it too. Perhaps more than he was willing to admit. To say he had never fantasized and dreamed would be a blatant lie. Still, something in Gellert’s eyes when he’d spoken of probing the mind… as though it wasn’t invasive to seek another’s thoughts without their permission… and his utter disregard for the law… what Aberforth said about him probably being familiar with the other two Unforgivables surfaced to Albus’ mind and he frowned uneasily. It didn’t happen often, but in this case, Albus realized that his brother had a point.

 

It suddenly registered to him that this boy had probably already done much of what he’d spoken about. Aberforth had mentioned he went to Durmstrang, too… it wasn’t too far off to say he probably knew some things of the Dark Arts.

 

No-- Albus was certain. This boy-- this Gellert Grindelwald-- was a Dark Wizard in the making. There could be no doubt of it.

 

Suddenly, he was confused. Why had Mrs. Bagshot brought Gellert here, even believing that he and Albus would get along, no less?

 

A loud crash from upstairs made everyone at the table jump slightly. Aberforth sprang out of his seat, cursing under his breath, and ran up the stairs.

 

Gellert raised an eyebrow. “Ghouls in your attic?” Something in his tone indicated he knew that it wasn’t ghouls.

 

“Yes, ghouls, they’re terribly bothersome...” said Albus distantly. In the commotion, he’d figured out something.

 

Gellert Grindelwald reminded him of Slytherin house. The cunning smile, the undisguised ambition, especially the ambition-- there was so much of it!… and something else that was almost… dare he think it?...

 

Albus stood up abruptly. “I’m sorry, but I’d like you to leave.” His tone came out unintentionally sharp.

 

Gellert stood up as well. “Did I say something to offend you?” He sounded genuinely astonished.

 

“I won’t tolerate someone breaking the law under my roof,” said Albus stiffly. “And I ask that you not come back here again.”

 

Gellert continued to look quite surprised, then recovered and rearranged his features. “This is a lapse in judgment, Albus,” he said, and his tone was so persuasive that Albus was inclined to meet his gaze. “Surely you understand that magic transcends all else?”

 

The golden gaze was so impossibly sincere, that Albus forced himself to look away, uncomfortable. He forced himself to say, “But there is certain magic that is unwise to tamper with. Regrettably, this is one of those cases. I’m sorry, but I must ask you to leave again.”

 

Gellert was quiet for a moment, and continued to stare unflinchingly at Albus. It unnerved him.

 

“I have tested many great wizards in the way I tested you earlier today,” Gellert said at length. “None have ever realized that, for several minutes, they were at my mercy entirely. Yet you realized, and in a short span of time, too.”

 

Albus silently walked over to the front door and held it open.

 

There was a long silence. Gellert did not move from his spot, nor did Albus.

 

“I will ask you once more: please leave,” he repeated. There was a coldness in Albus’ voice that hadn’t been there before.

 

Perhaps because of this, Gellert finally fastened on his cloak and stepped outside. Then he quickly placed his hand over Albus’ on the door frame, preventing him from closing it.

 

“I believe we could learn a great deal from each other,” he said quietly. From upstairs came another loud crash. Albus winced. “There is so much you do not know of yet,” Gellert pressed. His tone had taken on a sort of urgency.

 

Albus stared back at him impassively. His hand reached towards the handle to close the door but Gellert caught the hand.

 

“I believe that together, you and I could find them. We could find the Deathly Hallows. We could become the Masters of Death.”

 

“The-- what?” Albus said, his hand going limp in Gellert’s. His uneasiness was momentarily forgotten at finding that in one day, he had now been confronted with two subjects of which he knew nothing about.

 

Gellert’s hold on Albus’ hand tightened as he leaned in, grinning. “Yes, the Deathly Hallows. You must wish for your parents’ lives, do you not? If you could bring them back, you would, would you not?”

 

“Of course,” burst unwittingly from Albus’ lips, pain squeezing at his heart. The words alone had caused the suffocating feeling enveloping him to grow tenfold, as though enunciating his terrible imprisonment.

 

“Then I imagine we will be seeing each other soon enough.” Gellert smiled widely, then turned on his heels and vanished.

 

Albus stood rooted to the spot in shock. He could still feel the slight, fleeting pressure of Gellert’s hand on his.

 

“Is he gone?”

 

Albus turned slowly to his brother, who was, for some reason, covered in soot. “He’s gone.”

 

“And good riddance,” Aberforth muttered. “You should have driven him out sooner. What a git! Did Mrs. Bagshot really bring him around so he could throw illegal curses at our heads and insult us to our faces?”

 

“Yes,” said Albus. “I mean, no. I mean,” he shook his head. “She did bring him here, yes. But I doubt her intention was to put us in any danger.” A pause. “I don’t recall him insulting us. Did he saying something to you?”

 

Aberforth turned red at this. “Well, no, not exactly-- well-- I mean, in a sense--- just being a snarky bastard-- but it wasn’t--”

 

“Nevermind that,” said Albus quickly, recognizing the growing redness in Aberforth’s face as a dangerous sign. “What happened upstairs? Is Ariana alright?”

 

“She made the fireplace explode. You better come up and clean it up, it’s a right mess. I’ll try to calm her down.”

 

“Mhm.” Albus was staring thoughtfully at the window. He was thinking about the “Deathly Hallows” Gellert Grindelwald had mentioned. What could they be? Could they really bring back his parents?

 

“You’re not thinking about inviting him back, are you?” Aberforth said sharply in a rare instance of perceptiveness.

 

“What? No… of course not,” said Albus, jolted out of his thoughts.

 

“Because he can’t come around any more,” said Aberforth with finality. “Think of Ariana!”

 

“Yes, I know,” said Albus. “I asked him to never come back.” But even as he said it, he heard Gellert’s voice in his head -- _you should reconsider requesting that I never come back._ He frowned. Gellert’s brief smile before he’d apparated swam before Albus’ face.

 

Albus shut the door, realizing he’d had it open the whole time. _The Deathly Hallows…_ could they bring his parents back? Was there, after all, a way to remedy his own inadequacy? He thought about what Aberforth had said, but then heard Gellert’s voice in his head - _If you could bring them back, you could, would you not?_  
  


**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So Albus and Gellert have finally met for the first time! In my mind, that's how it played out: They didn't hit it off immediately. It certainly wasn't love at first sight for Albus! What did you think of the chapter? Likes, dislikes, thoughts on the direction it's headed? Queries, corrections, any sort of feedback? Leave it down in the comments! And keep in mind this is cannon, so yes they will get closer (much closer) in later chapters, don't you worry.


	4. Albus' Siren Song

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I apologize for the wait! I had originally wanted to post this a week earlier but... you know. Life. Shit happens. And I'll admit it, I fell flat on my face and took a while to get back up. But so that I can be held accountable, I'm going to resolve to try to update every two weeks. I'm determined to stick to this! Nothing more to say other than enjoy the chapter :)

Not for the first time, an argument had broken out at the Dumbledore residence.

Two boys, both with long, auburn hair and bright blue eyes, were standing at opposite ends of the kitchen table in the traditional duelling position.

Aberforth had stood up first and drawn his wand, shouting a slew of curses as he did so. This was unsurprising, as Aberforth was known to be hot-headed and temperamental.

What was surprising was that Albus had mirrored the action and also taken out his own wand.

Normally, he would never have answered Aberforth’s rash act of defiance, but lately he’d been so irascible and anxious, that he had reacted without even thinking.

Anger pulsed through Albus, confusing him greatly. What was he doing, getting so worked up over a small spat with his younger brother? And to draw his wand at him too! He knew all this, and yet he didn’t stow his wand away. It was vibrating slightly in his hand, begging to be used. Weeks of pent up magical energy coursed through Albus’ veins, demanding to be freed

Albus and Aberforth had never really seen eye to eye; they were far too different, cut from entirely different cloths. And yet, their relationship had always been civil, cordial.

At least on the outside.

Perhaps the years of subtly mocking comments and snide remarks had finally manifested in real life. It infuriated Aberforth to no end, that no matter how hard he tried, he was never able to ruffle Albus’ feathers. And Albus would have eaten a Cockroach Cluster before admitting it, but over the years, he had had to work extremely hard to keep his feathers unruffled. It eventually lead to a bit of… counterattacking.

When their parents had been alive, the two boys had rubbed along as comfortably as two opposite personalities possibly could. But since Percival’s incarceration, things had taken a spectacular turn for the worse. And now, with Kendra gone…

The two boys stood in silence, tensely, each unwilling or unable to back down. Albus felt some sort of vindictive satisfaction when he noticed a glimpse of fear cross Aberforth’s face, as he eyed Albus’ wand. Then he immediately felt sickened with himself.

The shame burrowing down on him, Albus sighed and stowed his wand away. He sat down rather heavily on his chair. “Aberforth, put your wand away. We need to talk this through, not duel each other.”

Aberforth hesitated, then stowed his wand away too. He no longer looked angry, but pale and guarded.

Albus  sighed. “I’m sorry for my behavior. You shouldn’t have drawn your wand on me to begin with but it was extremely foolish of me to respond in such a way.” He closed his eyes and folded his hands in some semblance of calm and composure. “Now. We were talking about the arrangements for September. Aberforth, we’ve already discussed this. Your education is of absolute--”

“Hang education!” said Aberforth scornfully. The redness had returned to his complexion. Apparently he’d gotten back some of his pluck and spirit. “You _know_ I don’t care, not one bit. Ariana needs me--”

“She has me,” Albus said firmly. “And I will do fine on my own, you must trust me on this.”

Aberforth looked skeptically at his older brother. “I don’t believe you,” he declared, suddenly. “I just don’t.”

“Aberforth,” said Albus, and there was a sharpness in his tone that was rare to hear. “I will remain at home to take care of Ariana, you will go back to Hogwarts, and that is final. Do not forget that I am now the head of the house.”

“What in the name of Merlin--? You’re going to pull authority over me now?” Aberforth spluttered, outraged.

“I am,” said Albus simply. “As it has come to this. You simply do not understand--”

“What?” said Aberforth loudly. “What don’t I understand?”

Albus resisted the urge to shout. Irritation crawled over him, rampant and wild. He drew a long, rattling breath.

“What you don’t understand,” he said, his voice shaking slightly, “is that by refusing your education, you are dishonoring our mother’s and father’s wishes. This is what they would have wanted for you. If you don’t go back to school, you insult their memories and spit upon the sacrifices they gave you.”

Silence settled. Aberforth stood there looking conflicted.

Albus got up and decided to leave his brother there to think things through. He made his way up to his bedroom, rubbing his temples tiredly. It was barely 8 o’clock and yet he already felt ready to go to sleep.

When he reached the top of the landing, he noticed the door to Ariana’s bedroom was slightly ajar, a long thin shadow cast outside by candlelight.

He made his way to the door and opened it cautiously, looking in curiously. “Ariana?”

His younger sister was crouched on the floor, arms wrapped around her knees. She looked close to tears.

Albus knelt down and reached a hand out to her, but she flinched away. “What’s the matter?”

“I heard you and Aberforth having a row,” she whispered. “I know it was because of me.” Her lower lip trembled slightly and her eyes became even more glassy.

Shame welled up in Albus, as well as a spark of fear. He couldn’t deal with another one of her episodes, not right now. He had the sudden urge to collapse onto the floor next to Ariana and assume the fetal position like she had.

“It wasn’t about you,” Albus assured her hurriedly as he sat down next to her with his legs crossed. He turned his face slightly away so she wouldn’t see how haggard his face undoubtedly looked. “Aberforth wanted to stay here instead of going back to Hogwarts, that’s all. But I told him he needs to go to school. You know how he can be, after all. He’s very stubborn.”

Ariana sniffed a bit.

“He cares about you very much,” Albus continued. “That’s why he wanted to stay. Understand?”

Albus reached out a hand again, as a tender gesture, but Ariana cringed visibly and Albus retracted his hand, feeling a slight twinge of hurt. In her good moods, she was a sunshine child, beaming and affectionate to all. But when she was troubled, she only ever let Aberforth touch her-- not even Kendra had been able to approach her without getting hurt. “Is there anything else bothering you?”

“Don’t fight again,” Ariana said, and there was a slight edge to her voice that Albus recognized as the precursor to a bout of hysteria. “Stop being so horrible all the time!”

“Okay,” said Albus, and his voice cracked slightly as he tried not to panic. “Okay, we won’t fight anymore, dear. I promise. Really. I promise. Will you forgive me? It was my fault that it happened. I’m very, very sorry.”

Ariana said nothing, but her grip on her knees loosened slightly, and Albus nearly let out an audible sigh of relief. “Will you give me a hug? To show me that you forgive me?”

As they embraced, Albus could only feel relief that he had managed to prevent her having one of her episodes. Thinking about his mother and how she used to treat Ariana, he smoothed her hair out and kissed her forehead, slightly awkward.

“Do you feel okay now?” Albus asked.

Ariana nodded again and rubbed at her eyes. Albus made to stand up and go but she tugged on his cloak's sleeve. “Albus, I think I’m ill.”

Albus turned around and frowned. “Ill? What do you mean?”

“My throat hurts, and my nose is itchy, and my eyes are itchy too.”

“How long have you felt like this for?”

“Since yesterday morning.”

Albus looked more closely at his sister. Her eyes were red rimmed, her nose red too. And her voice did sound a bit raspy. “I think it’s just a common cold,” he said, standing up. “Nothing a good dose of pepperup potion won’t take care of. I’ll go make some now, alright? But you should get into bed, so you don’t get cold.”

Downstairs, Aberforth had disappeared from the kitchen. Albus glanced out the kitchen window and saw a faint silhouette amongst the shed where they kept Aberforth’s goats.

_Incendio,_ he thought in his mind and gave a swish of his wand. The fire beneath their cauldron burst into life and Albus began gathering ingredients from their mother’s old apothecary cabinet.

Just as Albus was almost finished brewing pepperup potion, the back door opened and Aberforth stepped in, bringing a hale of dewy summer freshness and moist air with him.  

Albus felt a presence behind him as he busied himself with adding peppermint sprigs to the bubbling potion.

“I’ve thought about it,” Aberforth began gruffly. He coughed slightly. “And, er… I’ll go back to Hogwarts. I reckon it is what mum would’ve wanted me to do. And dad too, I suppose. But if you ever need help… well, just send me an owl and I’ll come straight home.”

“I appreciate that, Aberforth,” said Albus calmly as he stirred the potion. “And thank you for considering my point.”

“What’re you making?”

“Pepperup potion. Ariana has a bit of a cold.”

While Aberforth slouched upstairs, Albus put the finishing touches on the potion. He scooped a ladleful of the bright pink, bubbling liquid into a goblet and headed upstairs.

“Ariana?” The door was still slightly open. He stepped in and saw his sister curled up under her covers.

“Albus?”

“Sit up, dear. You need to drink this so you can heal faster.”

Ariana eyed the goblet warily. “Does it taste bad?”

“No, it’s sweet like peppermint,” Albus promised. He watched Ariana drink the whole goblet, then tucked her into bed. Before long, she had fallen asleep.

Ariana slept with her small hands curled into little half fists, her arms splayed haphazardly above her lolling head. As she breathed the heavy breaths of deep slumber, her breath came out in a funny whistling sound, no doubt from her cold. Despite the persisting ache in his stomach, it made Albus smile a bit.

“She’s better?” a voice said quietly behind him.

“She should be,” Albus replied in equally quiet tones.

“I can watch over her for a bit,” said Aberforth, emerging from the shadows. He took a seat at the edge of the bed. “You can leave if you want.”

Albus left the two of them and made his way back down to the kitchen to clean up. He eyed the mess, knowing he could clean it all up in a matter of seconds with magic. But the hours of looming boredom and hours filled with loneliness stretched out before him. Without further ado, he rolled up his sleeves and dived into the mess with his bare hands.

It was hard, gruelling work, but it kept Albus distracted, which is what he wanted. After he was finished, he went upstairs and climbed into bed, exhausted from the hour of Muggle labour.

Anything that kept him distracted from how truly miserable he was these days was good.

 

* * *

 The next morning, the sun rose bright and unrelenting. Having collapsed onto bed the previous night without so much as washing himself, Albus had neglected to draw the curtains on his window and so it was the orange glare of morning dawn that burned through his eyelids first, forcing him awake from his dreams.

Albus shifted uncomfortably on his bed, perspiration sticking to his skin and gleaming on his forehead. He’d had enough sense, before falling into bed, to pull off his robes (dark purple, with gold hems) but hadn’t bothered with much else and so had fallen asleep in his starchy undershirt and pleated slacks. The heat was nearly unbearable, and Albus drowsily wrenched a sweaty chunk of tangled auburn hair from under his neck. It had come undone, as he usually gathered it in a bunch at the nape of his neck with a black ribbon. His specs were askew on his face too.

The orange burned brighter and more insistently than ever, but Albus resolutely kept his eyes closed, hoping he might be able to sleep the day away.

Then the tapping on his bedroom window began. It started out gentle and steady, like the muted sound of raindrops hitting a weathervane, but eventually grew to louder and louder proportions. Swearing and groaning, Albus clumsily got out of bed and peered with bleary eyes at his window.

A familiar looking handsome, tawny owl was hovering outside, with what looked like a scroll of parchment tied to its leg.

_Elphias,_ Albus thought, hurrying out of bed. He unlatched his window and let the owl in, quickly relieving her of her burden.

“Cheers, Artemis,” he said, with the furled scroll clutched in his hand. He gave the owl a caress and a drink of water and off she went, flying through the open window into the rising sun.

He flopped back onto bed, pushed his spectacles upon his long nose, and read the letter there.

_June 30, 1899_

_Dear Albus,_

_What ho! I write to you now in the natural light of morning dawn here in Athens, clad in the traditional white robes that the Spartans used to wear. It is apparently customary to donne these white robes, in deference to the wizards who fought in the Spartan war several centuries ago._

_You wouldn’t believe how conspicuous the magical folk around here are! Why, in a matter of minutes after apparating to the seaside shore, I was hailed by a large group of Greek witches who showed me to a cavern and sat me down for a sumptuous Mediterranean feast. Such a warm welcome, and it was all in plain view of the Muggles too (_ to aneparo, _they call them here)!_

_I live isolated on a turret tower upon a crumbling hilltop overlooking the sea, along with a communion of wizards. By all accounts, the tower should have been destroyed in the volcanic explosion of two decades ago but it’s been held together by magic all these years. The first thing I noticed was that many seem to be vocational scholars. Ancient Runes seems to be what they’re attempting to divine-- and I’ll say this much: I never took Ancient Runes, though I had a few glimpses of what it looked like from your homework, Albus, but it was still nothing I’d ever seen in my life. They have entire libraries dedicated to the preservation of old Runes books, and I suppose it makes sense, for the ancient tongue of magic was Latin, after all. I reckon they’ve got this special connection._

_But I haven’t even told you of what I’ve seen, the things I’ve experienced. A week after I’d settled in, Milos (my host) and I, along with a group of wizards, went down to the rocky shores where a boat awaited us. After some pantomiming and crude sign language, I was able to deduce that we’d been asked to examine a disturbance on the other side of the island, where a great number of dangerous beasts roamed about the thicket of forest on the edge of the sand. (There are a group of scholars, but the vast majority are guardians of sorts-- they keep the peace and prevent criminal activity)._

_I was getting a better sense of Ancient Greek at this point (the wizards had never made the development to the modernized version of their language but opted to maintain the old one-- how bizarre!) and got the sense that the “disturbance” was probably nothing more than a lost traveller._

_But it wasn’t so! Now, Albus, here is where my story converges: See, upon landing on the island, we immediately heard a terrible, blood curdling scream, and our worst suspicions were confirmed. We rushed in, and it was such a labyrinth, so confusing in there, why even the Forbidden Forest couldn’t possibly hold a light to how terrifyingly dark and confusing those Greek forests were. Yet Milos and the others seemed to know exactly where to go, and it was all I had to keep from tripping and follow after them._

_Now, I’m assume you’re familiar with the hybrid magical beast known as the chimaeras? But of course, you would never have seen one in person, as they are not indigenous to Britain._

_Well, we walked into the midst of a clearing and saw a man, no doubt on the doorstep of death, at the feet of a chimaera who had blood dripping from its horrible lion’s muzzle._

_It was a terrible thing to behold. I couldn’t begin to put into the words the power that radiated off of it. All at once, I found myself paralyzed with fear, insignificant against this magnificent beast’s obvious greatness._

_Before I’d even gathered my wits, one of the men shot a stunner straight into the chimaera, while the other five shot different jinxes and hexes of their own. The spells simply bounced off the thing-- bounced off I say! I saw them rebound off its iron skin as though they were no more than droplets of rain. But it was enough to distract the beast for it turned its horrible face to us and let out a mighty roar, and in these few precious moments, one of the men immediately cast a summoning charm upon the poor bloke who lay bleeding to his death upon the floor and he was immediately whisked away. I later found out he was a poacher, illegally trying to steal chimaera eggs when the mother found him and well-- you can imagine what happened. The rest of us were left to fight the chimaera. (Needless to say it was extremely foolish of him-- dishonorable too, to steal a mother’s children away from her, no matter how bloodthirsty and savage the creature. Well, he’s fine now, they say he’s recovering)._

_I had never duelled such as I did in that hour long battle, Albus. It wouldn’t be too far to say that my skills multiplied tenfold in just one hour of exhaustive duelling-- I had to let my instincts guide me, you see, for everything was happening far too fast, and the chimaera’s reflexes were much quicker than our’s._

_Eventually we subdued it enough that when we broke into the thicket of forest, running as I had never had in my life, we were just able to outrun it to reach the boat and sail off, leaving it to growl at us from distance, unable to enter the water._

_My heart pounds just at the mere recollection of that experience! I daresay my life was at stake, but I wouldn’t have traded it for anything._

_I’ve since had many memorable happenings in my time in Athens. My only regret, my dear friend, is that you are not here to share these thrilling adventures with me. I told my fellow battlers after we’d made it back to the tower that I have a brilliant friend who probably could have held off the chimaera all on his own-- immobilized it even. They asked me if he-- you-- could kill it, for in all of wizarding history, it has only happened once, and I said, undoubtedly yes, for certainly you have the skill! But I know you would never do it, even if given a chance. When I told them this, they seemed unimpressed-- I imagine they are desensitized to the idea of murder, for the pages of Greek history are splattered with military blood after, and even today that spirit manifests in the white robes they wear._

_Well, the sun has fully risen now and I must prepare for another day. I will be heading off to Egypt soon, and I’ll write you as I soon as I have more to share._

_I hope everything is well with you at home. Send your reply back with Cicero, and I will await to hear back from you eagerly,_

_As ever your humble and loyal friend,_

_Elphias._

 

Albus finished reading the letter, smiling slightly. He took a familiar comfort from hearing his friend’s voice in the words, and seeing the endearingly childish scrawl. He folded the letter carefully and placed it upon his bedside table, thinking idly as he stared up at the ceiling.

So Elphias was battling chimaeras in Greece… and doing many other things that he hadn’t even managed to squeeze onto a good two and a half feet of parchment, apparently. In the meantime, he, Albus…

He closed his eyes against the sudden coldness that washed over him. The warm flare that he had gotten at receiving Elphias’ letter had died out as suddenly as it had come. All of a sudden, affection was replaced by annoyance. He wished Elphias hadn’t told him about the chimaeras after all. What good was it to live such thrilling exploits only through someone else’s words? Elphias had said it himself, words were insufficient in describing the chill of fear at seeing a chimaera in person, and feeling the high of adrenaline kick in during duels…

As though in response to his thoughts, Albus felt his wand hand twitch slightly, as it clutched the beech and phoenix feather wand he’d retained since he was eleven. He was using it more than ever nowadays, placing powerful soporific spells on Ariana when she was in danger of losing control, discreetly casting cheering charms on her when she seemed to be on the verge of tears, doing complex magic to combat the wild and untamed beast that seemed to be a part of her…

There was nothing thrilling in this battle. It was a grim and sad business. His days were marked by stabs of fear and an undercurrent of anxiety that seemed to follow him wherever he went. It was difficult to fall asleep at night, and harder still to wake up in the morning. He found himself snapping at Aberforth more often these days, his mood wearing thin from being trapped in the house.

It would have all been bearable if he knew an end was near. But no foreseeable end was in sight. Ariana would ostensibly continue being ill for the rest of her life, and unless she was monitored very closely, she was a danger to herself and the people around her.

There was nothing he could do. He was desperately bored, lonely, and depressed. There was no one he could talk to and nothing he could do. Well, nothing he could do, unless, of course…

Somehow, he could bring back his mother and father. They would take care of Ariana. They would take charge, freeing Albus to do whatever he pleased.

Sometimes he wondered idly whether one could escape Azkaban, without being apprehended. He caught himself daydreaming, at times, that his father had broken free from the dementors and returned home to take care of them all. It was more feasible, anyway, than returning from death. There was no magic on earth that could return the dead to the living, Albus knew this, and it frustrated him endlessly.

One trapped in Azkaban (and very likely dead, though Albus avoided thinking about it), and one irrefutably dead, never to be returned. His mother… she didn’t deserve the life she had lived, the fortune she had received, yet it seemed, the best always fell first… he wished it wasn’t so…

_If you could bring them back, you would, would you not?_

Albus’ eyes flew open. He lay stock still on his bed, his eyes unblinkingly fastened upon his ceiling as his thoughts raced. But there had been someone, not just a week ago, who had professed to know of a way to bring back his parents, had there not?

_We could find the Deathly Hallows. We could become the Masters of Death._

Albus’ pulse quickened, his breath coming in faster as he thought hard. He’d been quick to forget about his recent encounter with the new young wizard who had moved into the little brown house just five houses down from where he lived. Charming and handsome though he may be, he had also cursed Albus before even stepping foot into his house. But all that was nothing to how he viewed the Dark Arts… as though they were not an enemy to be contended, but a close friend to be cherished…

And yet…

For the first time since the first meeting, Albus allowed his mind to roam freely and consider what he had instinctively rejected. He thought about what Gellert Grindelwald had said about the mind being a wizard’s most veritable fortress, an instrument that must be honed and harnessed to be stronger and more powerful than any spell or incantation could ever achieve.

He’s right, Albus thought decidedly, surprising himself. Of course, he’d known this all along… Suddenly, the memory of Gellert telling him he’d been the only wizard to ever recognize he’d been under the Imperius Curse’s influence flashed through his mind… he felt a flare of pride, the first feeling of something even remotely close to happiness he had felt in a long time.

He’d also said something about the boundaries of magic being tested, pushed, and expunged.

_Well_ , Albus thought,  _I suppose that does sound reasonable_. It had sounded ambitious to him at the time, and the uncanny resemblance to Slytherin house had disarmed him. He frowned, wondering if he was, after all, prejudiced and unaware of it. But in any case, there was nothing wrong with wanting to take magic to the next level…

A surge of something hot and fiery snaked down Albus’ spine as he pictured the golden gaze flicker with excitement at the prospect of it all… The way he spoke was undoubtedly captivating.

I was fascinated by it, Albus admitted reluctantly to himself in his head. I found it intriguing. That’s why I told him to leave. That’s why I was angry-- with myself, not him.

And he’d flippantly declared the law to be inconsequential in this pursuit. Albus surprised himself yet again by chuckling quietly. He suddenly found it hard to believe he’d been so threatened by Gellert at the time. There was nothing volatile about him; on the contrary, there was a certain endearing quality to his eagerness to _learn_ and _seek_.

Albus was smiling slightly when he remembered with a jolt that Gellert had, in fact, used the Imperius Curse on him without even a preamble. Frowning, Albus realized that he could veritably bring Gellert to the ministry and have him imprisoned in Azkaban for life for this offense. Yet Gellert hadn’t seemed worried at all; either he didn’t know about British Wizarding Laws, or--

He knew I would never tell on him, Albus realized. But how? He barely knew Albus, yet he seemed to already understand that about him.

Unease crept back, replacing the amusement he’d felt earlier. There was a great deal that was very strange about Gellert Grindelwald, that was certain. But…

But for some reason, the prospect of talking to him, of just spending time with him… I must be desperately lonely, Albus thought wryly, to crave the company of someone like him. We would never have gotten along if we’d met at Hogwarts.

But the circumstances now were different. Principles and personality aside, Gellert had claimed, however cryptically, to know of a way to reverse death, the very thing Albus needed most at the moment.

And besides that… For one strange, tantalizing moment, Albus’ thoughts lingered over the most trivial of details. The golden curls that fell to his shoulders. The matching shade of gold that made his eyes so expressive and convincing. The teasing smile that graced his face so generously…

The overall effect was very nice. When he’d leaned towards Albus, dark shadows had been cast into his face, heightening the prominent cheekbones. The hand enclosed around Albus’ had been firm and unyielding and Albus had detected a strange yet pleasant scent of the Calming Draught potion, cinnamon and sage.

Albus absentmindedly rubbed his chin, where a thin wisp of reddish-brown hair was growing. For the first time in his life, whatever vanity that had been dormant in him for so long suddenly took hold of him and he stupidly wondered if the new goatee he’d been growing was unbecoming of him and if he ought to get rid of it.

“Albus!”

Albus jumped, his hand tightening on his wand inadvertently. His heart knocked against his chest as the thoughts in his mind imploded.

Aberforth’s voice carried up the stairs. “I’m off to the market so mind the house! Ariana’s in her room and no one is to touch the goats while I’m gone!” The door slammed shut.

His reverie broken, Albus glanced at the clock that hung on the wall opposite to his bed and realized he’d whittled away the entire morning thinking about Gellert Grindelwald.

“Fool,” he muttered under his breath.

 

* * *

In the afternoon, after he returned from the market, Aberforth took Ariana down to the shed to help him feed the goats. Albus had no objections to this plan; he dreaded being around Aberforth, who always look poised on the edge of having a blazing row with him. And as for Ariana… Albus’ nerves were frayed to the edges. He felt as though he couldn’t possibly deal with being in the company of his sister at the moment.

What he needed was a different setting. Something to keep him from going mad… something that would show him there was more to the world than the square perimeters of his childhood home. Something entirely different from the domestic, organized character of his kitchen and foyer. Something… wild and untamed.

And Albus had just the perfect place in mind. Without giving it another thought, he blindly reached for one of the many cloaks that hung in his closet. Sheer gossamer met his fingers, and he looked down to see a supple, enchanting light blue cloth peppered with silver. Perfect for the summer, and it matched his eyes too. _The best magic happens accidentally,_ he thought with a faint smile. He fastened it on swiftly and went downstairs.

The back door had been left open. Albus could see the distant figures of his brother and sister ambling towards the shed. He slipped quietly through the open door and walked some paces away from the house before apparating soundlessly. 

In the instant before he’d turned on the spot, he felt a fleeting fear that he wouldn’t be able to apparate, after having gone so long without doing it. But his concern was silly, completely unfounded-- he landed flawlessly on the spot he’d pictured in his head without so much as s wobble.

Mildewy, summery fragrance washed over him. He breathed in the delicious, minty scent of the Fairy Forest and couldn’t help but let out a laugh of sheer delight. Tension he hadn’t even realized he had left his body; his limbs felt infinitely more buoyant. A wide grin spread across his face as he regarded the deserted forest he’d discovered four years ago, when he had been in search of a place where he could find the magical creatures he read about so often in his textbooks. It was here he’d spoken to an ancient tribe of centaurs and learned of their wisdom in reading the stars, here he’d learned Mermish from the Merpeople who inhabited the lake, here he’d divulged so many of the magical secrets he was now privy to. Consumed with child-like giddiness, he set off into the forest.

_“Lumos”,_ he murmured and incandescent silvery light lit up his path across the sprawling green. In one of his past expenditures into the forest, he’d had the misfortune of setting foot on a nest of Devil’s Snare-- gotten out in a matter of minutes, but it had still been a rather nasty shock. So he kept his wand lighted as he picked his way gracefully through the rough, unhewn forest floor.

After ten minutes or so of walking, he heard the tell tale swishing of a babbling brook and smiled, knowing he was headed in the right direction. Before long, he would reach his secret meadow, the one he was sure only he knew about it.

After all, there was no other wizard out there skillful enough or brave enough to venture into the Fairy Forest. It wasn’t full of malignant creatures, as the Forbidden Forest was, but it was filled with something far more terrifying: The Unknown. The magical secrets and mysteries that existed in the depths of the Fairy Forest had never been fully divulged. After the Muggles had begun steering clear of the forest for fear it was haunted (wisely so), the Ministry officials had decided they no longer needed to stand guard and ever since, the Forest had been left alone, entirely bereft of human company.

Albus was confident he was the only one of his kind to have become so comfortable with the Forest. He wondered idly if the Merpeople he’d once learnt Mermish from still remembered him. It had been at least a year since he’d paid them a visit.

After another 20 minutes of walking, he saw the golden light he knew so well in the distance and excitement blazed inside of him, licking up his sides like fire. He unwittingly began jogging, then finally broke out into a full on run, as the golden light grew closer and closer, it was nearly blinding in its dazzling iridescence--

Albus stopped dead in his tracks at the edge of the meadow. For one full second, shock kept him rooted to the spot, then he quickly stumbled back into the trees’ shadows, praying he hadn’t been seen and was now hidden in the shade of the forest. On a split seconds decision, he hastily cast a disillusionment charm on himself and tried to control his breathing, which was ragged and broken, partly from sprinting, partly from being caught completely unawares.

He had been proven wrong. He was not the only wizard skillful enough and brave enough to have ventured straight into the heart of the Fairy Forest. Not when the evidence stood clearly before him.

There was someone already out in the meadow, performing some intricate motions with his wand that was causing the air around him to dance and sing and whistle, almost like music. Albus watched curiously at the unfamiliar wand movements, trying and failing to match an incantation to them.

Meanwhile, the tune around the wizard began weaving in and out, creating a simple melody most pleasing to the ears. The unknown identity of this intruder forgotten, Albus stood where he was and watched the stranger continue to bend the wind to his will, creating a symphony of sorts with it. Music became increasingly discernable from the whistling wind, and the simple melody grew in complexity.

It was enchanting… quite literally so. Like a Siren’s Song. Albus blinked at some point and realized he’d been listening, slack jawed for several minutes. _What I wouldn’t give to be able to charm nature like that,_ he thought. _And create a song that could enslave my enemies without force._ Desires and dreams and wishes he’d always had but never really paid much heed rose to his mind as he listened, and a powerful ache, half desperate longing, half powerful wistfulness, stole his heart and he was inclined to sink to the grass on his knees.

He felt as though he might like to weep.

The melody became even more strange, more complex, haunting. Albus listened, eyes wide, to the bizarre sound-- like a combination of the rustling grass, whistling wind, and babbling brook. It was triumphant in spirit, Albus decided, as though this were the war cry of a hero who had righted everything, made everything okay. It was the opposite of peaceful, opposite of soothing, so demanding of the listener that it was nearly _aggressive._

Albus thought he’d never heard any so beautiful in his life.

_Who is he?_

A Ministry official? But why would a Ministry official be out here doing something such unconventional, unorthodox magic?

A local wizard? But who? How come Albus had never crossed paths with him in all his outings to the forest in the past four years?

Half of him knew that he was almost certainly under an extremely powerful enchantment. He’d never before been bewitched, and had only ever read about its effect in definition. Now he realized how difficult it was to break free-- the enemy was dangerous, perhaps, but far more fascinating. He didn’t _want_ to break free of this spell. And besides, he had to know who the stranger was…

Curiosity got the better of him. Hardly daring to breathe, Albus tread very carefully closer to the edge of the meadow so as not to be heard and squinted as the dazzling sun hit him full force in the face. He edged closer and closer, and finally got a glimpse of the wizard’s face. Shock-- then understanding.

Because it wasn’t a Ministry official. It wasn’t an unknown local either.

It was Gellert Grindelwald.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hehe. Sorry guys but I'm gonna have ya'll sweat it out just a liiiitle bit longer. Next chapter will be their official SECOND encounter/interaction. Thoughts about this chapter? Likes? Dislikes? Please let me know in the comments! And btw, sorry for the lack of albus/gellert action in this chapter! But from here on, there will be plenty. It's just that this story has always been much more a tragedy than a romance in my head. And so I feel it's important to explore Albus' state of mind-- this is the most pivotal moment in his life, it's basically what makes him become the Dumbledore we're all familiar with. Anyways, stay tuned for the next chapter.


	5. The Beginning of an End

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Et voila! Right on time. I have nothing more to say other than enjoy!

It struck Albus as strange, that on the very morning of the day he found himself inexplicably wishing for the company of Gellert Grindelwald, the very man in question should appear before him that same evening.

‘ _Fianto duri, mobiliarbus, herbiviscus…”_ Albus muttered a string of charms under his breath to see if they did anything, if they reacted in any way to Gellert Grindelwald’s magic.

Nothing happened.

Well of course not, Albus thought, smiling ruefully at his own foolishness. Unless Gellert stopped soon, the forest would eventually succumb to the black energy bleeding through its clean air-- the atmosphere around Albus fairly reeked of Dark Magic. He could feel its malevolent energy thick around him, palpable, tangible. It was subtle, true, no one else could have felt it-- but Albus extraordinarily keen senses were ringing with the potency of it all: The tell tale scent of ancient evil.

“ _Specialis Revelio,”_ he muttered, the tip of his wand placed against the bark of the tree closest to him. A small slit appeared in the grains and a thin stream of sap dripped out, black and viscous. Clearly poisoned. Albus conjured a vial out of thin air and caught the sap in it. This would tell him what Gellert was trying to do-- unless his efforts proved to be fruitful and Albus could see with his own eyes.

He watched closely right after, but nothing else happened.

It seemed to Albus at least an hour later until he saw the golden head lift from its concentrated gaze and glance about curiously. He thought he distantly saw a flick of the wand-- then a swooping sensation spread throughout the forest grove. _Homenum revelio,_ Albus thought. _He knows I’m here._

The timing was uncanny; no sooner had he thought the words than he saw Gellert Grindelwald look up from the corner of his eye, the corner of his mouth turned upwards slightly.

“Well now, Albus, why don’t you come on out and tell me why you have been standing there so quietly for the past little while?”

Albus stepped out from the dark clearing of the forest, unsurprised. In his fascination, he’d long abandoned any effort at concealment. He couldn’t help but wonder if the last few minutes of show had been purely for his benefit.

He found he wasn’t entirely averse to the idea.

His legs creaked as he unbended them from where they’d been curled beneath him and walked out into the middle of the meadow; he hadn’t realized he’d been crouched on the floor for so long.

Gellert flicked his wand and the music that had filled the air immediately ceased. Albus felt the dark energy surrounding him deplete and vanish. A fresh gust of wind blew through the meadow, and the green surrounding them seemed to brighten subtly.

“For how long were you watching me?”

Albus came to a stand next to Gellert and caught the same scent of mixed spices he had before, as though Gellert had just been standing in front of the fumes of a bubbling potion. “It’s strange,” he began, his tone light and conversational. “I came to this forest for some much needed time alone, and the last thing I expected to find was another wizard. How did you find your way in?”

Gellert did not answer. A brief silence ensued, both boys keenly aware of the other’s refusal to answer their directed questions.

“Seclusion is hard to come by, isn’t it?” Gellert finally commented. He picked up a stray leaf from the meadow’s field and twirled it around his fingers, studying it intently as though it were a particularly interesting specimen.

“Yes, I’m afraid so.”

“But this forest is anything but empty.”

“Sometimes, the company of people can become, forgive me, suffocating.”

Gellert glanced up, his eyebrows raised. “How old are you, Albus?”

“I will be eighteen soon. Why do you ask?”

Gellert’s lips curled upwards. “My, only seventeen. Far too young to be so jaded. Who is ailing you, pray tell?”

Albus let out a little surprised laugh at this. “Nothing, truly. Sometimes, I would like time away from people to collect my thoughts, that’s all.”

“Hmm.” Gellert was gazing at the leaf in his hand with a look of intense concentration. “It just so happens I was craving something of the same sort when I stumbled across this enchanting forest. I wonder if that is something we both ought to remedy. Our predisposition to scorn the company of others, that is. _Incendio.”_ The leaf in Gellert’s hand instantly incinerated. He grinned, lifting his triumphant eyes to Albus, whose normally placid face had a look of open astonishment, his mouth parted slightly in wonder.

_Wandless._ Albus’ eyes widened. He’d never encountered anyone else who could perform wandless magic. The blackened ashes that were the remnants of the leaf slipped through the cracks in Gellert’s cupped palm and were carried away in the wind, a swirl of glittering obsidian dust. The color reminded him of something.

“Earlier,” Albus began, brow furrowed, “I was watching you… controlling the wind. It was bewitching... “ He frowned, struggling with how to word the powerful emotions it had evoked within him. “It were as though--”

Gellert chuckled. “Was it to your taste?”

“Ah music, a magic beyond anything we ever do as wizards,” Albus said smiling, still rather entranced, though his bewitched state had long lifted. “My compliments to the conductor. What is the secret to your success?”

“‘Secret’? There is no secret… surely, you know this better than anyone,” Gellert replied. For the first time, Albus detected a faint accent in the words, though he couldn’t place where from.

“Where are you from?”

“I originally come from Switzerland, though it’s been many years since I left.”

“You study at Durmstrang, if I recall correctly?”

“Studied,” Gellert corrected. “It is part of the past now-- history, as we would say.”

“You have voluntarily left school, then?”

“No.” Gellert glanced up at Albus, a wry smile on his face. “I was expelled.”

“Goodness,” Albus murmured, brow furrowed. “I’m sorry, I shouldn’t have pried--”

“Albus. You speak as though of a calamity. Do I look as though I am grieving?”

A short pause. “You are not upset that your education has been forcibly taken away from you?” Albus asked, politely incredulous.

“I outgrew Durmstrang long ago,” Gellert declared, with an indifferent shrug of his shoulders. “It was rather timely actually, for I was beginning to question whether my place was in an isolated castle in the far North or out in the real world.”

The two boys stood in silence as the blood red sun began to set, leaving behind vestiges of color in its wake. Albus peered curiously at the boy next to him over the top of his spectacles.

“I see. I was presumptuous. I only assumed, because I personally valued my education very much.” Albus said lightly. He was being carefully polite now. He wondered if he had unwittingly wandered into forbidden waters.

“Really?”

“You sound surprised.”

“Well, I am.” Gellert turned around to face Albus; in the blink of an eye, his wand was pointed directly at him. “And I will show you why, exactly. For example: _Flipendo._ ”

Albus reacted instinctively; with lightning quick reflexes, he reached into his robes and pulled out his wand, blocking the spell easily.

“ _Diffindo. Petrificus Totalus. Expelliarmus. Immobulus._ ”

Over and over again, Albus deflected each spell with practiced ease. He looked levelly at Gellert. “Are you demonstrating a point, or is this an invitation to duel?”

“Why, the former, of course.”

“I’m not entirely sure what this all means.”

Gellert grinned. “The hallmarks of a great teacher are show, _then_ tell. _Legilimens!_ ”

Albus was caught entirely off guard. A series of simple jinxes and hexes-- and suddenly he was being attacked. His shield charm came just a second too late-- a hazy, barely comprehensible memory floated to his mind’s surface before he regained his wits and closed off his mind.

His eyes closed for just a second in his effort; when he opened them, he saw Gellert standing on both feet, clearly having managed to repel his shield charm. _Quick,_ Albus thought briefly, mildly impressed. There hadn’t been a single student at Hogwarts who hadn’t been knocked off their feet when they faced off against Albus in the Duelling Club at Hogwarts.

Gellert’s mouth was relaxed, but his eyes were laughing. Albus looked down and realized that long, ivy tendrils were curling around his shoes, shackling him to the spot. He flicked his wand and they instantly withered, became brittle and crumbled into dust.

He’d barely done this when he was suddenly surrounded by a ring of fire that began growing into epic proportions. Albus raised his wand and ice surrounded the flames, then burst into a cloud of raindrops.

“ _Locomotor mortis.”_

Albus barely managed to deflect the spell; he was beginning to struggle to keep up. Gellert was goading him into attacking, knowing he wouldn’t be able to keep up if he continued to be on the defense.

There was a bang as Gellert took aim again; black smoke filled the clearing and slowly began dissipating to reveal a slumped over figure on the ground. Gellert grinned and walked over, bending down.

The moment he touched what looked like an unconscious Albus, the figure turned to dust and disappeared before his eyes. His mouth opened in a surprised O for just a moment. Then he stood up with a knowing gleam in his eyes.

“A disillusionment charm, Albus?” Gellert chuckled. “A cheap trick, if I may say so myself. It will take more concealment than that to deceive me. _Homenum Revelio! Stupefy!”_

There was a thump at the edge of the forest, followed by a rippling effect in the air. Gellert apparated to the source of the sound, his eyes carefully roving about. They finally came to rest on a small tree lying on the ground, clearly having just been severed from its trunk and fallen. “Hmm. But what--?” His eyes suddenly widened and he whirled around, to find Albus’ wind pointed directly between his eyes.

Gellert immediately vanished, but not quickly enough. When he materialized into the center of the meadow again, Albus following shortly, he looked down and found his robes had been singed, the acrid smell of burning fabric filled the air. His frayed sleeves glittered with orange sparks.

The two wizards stood in silence; Albus, tensely, Gellert, casually. “How did you conceal yourself, if not with a Disillusionment Charm?” he asked conversationally.

“I transfigured myself into a tree,” Albus said quietly, “And used the other as a diversion.” He swished his wand, and the singed bits on Gellert’s robes vanished, leaving them clean and pristine.

Gellert walked closer, tucking his wand back into his dark green robes. Albus mirrored the action, confused.

“Do you understand now?”

“I admit, I do not.”

“When did you learn Occlumency?”

“Towards the end of my OWL year.”

“And self transfiguration?”

“At the end of my fourth. But what does that have to do with the matter of education?”

Gellert laced his hands together, placing them at the back of his head. “I thought it would be obvious. I’m saying that you evidently outgrew Hogwart’s curriculum-- yet never left. A lapse in judgment, in my opinion.”

“This would be the second time you have remarked upon my apparent less than satisfactory logic.”

“But am I wrong?” This, asked slyly.

Albus smiled-- he couldn’t help it. When was the last time he had met someone with so much character, someone who dared to challenge him? His brilliance had never been contested, his opinions never contended. Perhaps because there had never been anyone quite as brilliant to see how apparently flawed he was.

“I stayed at Hogwarts because I, admittedly, never thought of another option. But you are bold, Gellert, to say that these institutions are of no use, when they have been created for the sole purpose that you may learn.”

“As though I could have learned anything interesting in that drafty old castle,” Gellert scoffed. “Surrounded by imbeciles as I was. In the few months I have left, I have learned more in this classroom than any I was stuck in before.”

“This classroom?”

“This world.” Gellert gestured around them grandly. “This vast, vast world with so many things yet to be discovered. Doesn’t it excite you, Albus, to know that great things are waiting to happen and be written into the tapestry of history? And I will be the one to make these great things happen.”

A soft summer breeze danced through the meadow, ruffling the long overgrown grass upon which they stood, bathing them in coolness. In that moment, with his long curls airborne in the wind, the expression on his face so impossibly confident and assured, Gellert struck Albus as a rather impressive figure, silhouetted against the night sky’s dark backdrop.

“Won’t you share some of the things you have learnt with me, then? I’m rather curious now.”

“I could go on all night and we would have just barely begun to explore the depths of my findings.”

At this moment, Albus remembered something. “What of the Deathly Hallows then? I recall you mentioning them the last time…”

“Ah yes, the heart of my discoveries. You have heard, I presume, of the The Tale of the Three Brothers?”

“Of course. A children’s tale written by Beedle the Bard. Three brother met Death on a road and--”

“--managed to thwart him, the result of which was the Deathly Hallows.” Gellert looked up at Albus, his golden eyes two burning fires set in the darkness. Their intensity unsettled Albus. “I am currently in the midst of locating them.”

It took a second for this absurd declaration to sink in. “Surely you don’t mean to say that you believe the objects to be real?” Albus said, bemusedly. “Why, The Tale of the Three Brothers is merely a story, meant for the reader’s amusement. You’d be mad to take it litera--”

“Albus,” Gellert interrupted. His voice, which had been so solemn before, was now light and playful again. “Do I strike you as a fool?”

“You do not,” Albus conceded. “But… and now I will have to borrow your words, as I believe this to be a lapse in judgment on your part. There is no basis to believe that the Hallows exist. Even if history gives indication to the possibility of the Elder Wand, there is no magic in this world that can reverse death.”

“Isn’t there?” Gellert questioned quietly. “Are you quite certain of that?”

“No,” Albus said readily. “I can never be certain of the fallible. History, for instance, is always open to interpretation, and one can never say what really happened. But at the moment, I have no good reason to believe otherwise.”

“What if I were to present you with evidence to believe otherwise?” Gellert asked compellingly.

“Well, that depends,” Albus said, his eyes twinkling. He was only humoring Gellert now, and he knew it. To think he’d been so wary of being in his company! But it turned out that Gellert was only a child chasing after fairy tales.

“You don’t believe me, I see,” Gellert said, sounding quite unconcerned. “But you will, in due time. In the meantime, allow me to show you something. _Accio!”_

From within the depths of the forest came a tiny pattering sound, like the sound of an animal’s paws hitting the earth in a rhythmic run. Sure enough, Albus saw something small and hunched appear at the edge of the meadow and make its way towards them.

In the darkness, he could barely make out what it was. A rat, perhaps, or a mole. The animal skittered to a stop next to them and beneath their wand light, Albus saw that he was only partially right: It was the assembled skeleton of a rat, apparently animated back to life.

Albus had read of the theory behind Necromancy, but, naturally, being of a scrupulously upstanding nature, had never put it to practice. To see it now, in the flesh…

“Good Merlin,” he uttered softly, bending down to look at the thing more closely. “An inferius. Is this your doing?”

Gellert did not answer, instead opting to watch Albus closely.

“Not exactly an inferius,” he corrected at length. “Without my explicit instructions, it has no will or direction. And of course, it is not sentient. But close.”

Albus straightened up, brushing away blades of grass off of his robes. He looked grimly at the young wizard standing next to him. “This is very dark magic, Gellert. Where did you learn the incantation for reanimation?”

“That doesn’t matter. What I’m showing you is that while the physicality of death can be reversed, so can the mentality. Magic has no boundaries. You must realize this.”

“Undo it.”

“Undo it?”

“Yes, lift the spell. Let the poor creature rest. It’s time here is done. You have no right to meddle with it in its death.”

Gellert laughed incredulously. “We are speaking of vermin here, a trifling not worthy of even the lowliest wizard.”

“Gellert.” Albus had closed his eyes, his expression deeply troubled. “I beg you. Lift the spell.”

It felt like an eternity, but Albus did not open his eyes until he felt the presence of the dead rat vanish. When he opened his eyes, there was only a pile of tiny little bones, and an impassive looking Gellert, twirling his wand languidly in one hand.

“What is Dark Magic, Albus?”

Albus paused, taken aback by the abrupt question. “Pardon?”

“What is Dark Magic? Have you ever thought of it?”

“I-- of course. One of the core curricular courses at Hogwarts was Defense Against the Dark Arts. We learned--”

“You misunderstand me.” Gellert stepped closer to Albus and looked at him so intently, he might have been looking at his own reflection in a mirror. “I don’t want to know what you have been told. I want to know what you truly think.”

The intensity of his eyes made it difficult to think. Albus glanced away and stared up at the dark, star speckled sky.

“The history of wizardkind has always been more than just history,” he prefaced thoughtfully. “There is a marked distinction between good and evil. Those who venture towards the Dark Arts never fare well. But it’s difficult to say... “ Albus blinked, squinting to see. The humid summer air had caused a sheen of dewiness to cling to his spectacles, fogging them up. He gave them a tap with his wand. “ _Impervius._ I only know to exercise caution when it comes to certain types of magic.”

“You are wrong,” Gellert said, his smile almost pitying. “And I do not blame you. They only wish to keep the peace-- but they chain us to the dark to do so.”

“‘They’?”

“They, Albus, they!” Gellert exclaimed, and the air around him became more static, crackling and  responding to his agitation. “The establishments! The higher ups! The authorities! They don’t wish to see us succeed, they only wish to deceive us into believing it! But I have seen through their lies.”

“Deceive us?” Albus parroted, frowning. “I’m not sure what you meant.”

Gellert sighed. “You are not unclever. Think! Do you really believe it is magic that is at fault? Or is it us, the ones who wield it? The ones who corrupt it, use it for the wrong purposes?”

In the silence that fell, Albus realized he’d never felt so impotent, as though the very foundation of his being might crack and crumble.

“Of course, the fault lies with us,” he finally said, looking perplexedly at Gellert. He couldn’t help but marvel at the palpable doubt in his answer, and hear an uncertainty ringing in his voice, the likes of which he’d never heard before. “But the wizard and his wand… they are inextricably tied, forged from the moment the wand chooses his master.”

Gellert laughed. “I had heard of such a thing before I came here. Your Britons and your understanding of wandlore-- it’s so flawed! I could not believe such anachronistic beliefs could still exist today. “The wand chooses the wizard”, this is your understanding, yes? But it is not so. Only the wizard can tame the wand.”

“And so your point?”

“And so, wouldn’t it follow logically that there is no such thing as good and evil? There is only power, and those not worthy of being its possession. But those who are worthy may use it to its full potential. The weak and foolish have no place when it comes to the most complex of magic.”

“It is not our place to judge who is worthy and who is weak.”

Gellert shook his head, smiling. “You are not to be swayed, I see. It is remarkable to me, how the most consummate of wizards insist on denying their own gift.”

Albus smiled. “You are very kind.”

Gellert levitated a stray leaf from the meadow bed and let it hover in midair. He turned towards Albus. “Give me your hand.”

Albus raised an eyebrow, but nonetheless obliged, stretching out a hand. Gellert levitated the leaf toward Albus, letting it rest on his open palm. “Show me.”

“Show you?”

“Yes, show me what you can do.”

The unspoken challenge in the words hung in the air between them. Albus knew the battle was lost even before it had begun.

Gellert had incinerated it, wandless. Albus could do the same-- easily. But his proclivity was for creation, not destruction. And there was something he had been working on, before his mother’s death. Surely, it was worth trying…?

He looked intently at the leaf. “ _Lacarnum inflamare.”_

The leaf immediately caught on fire, a carefully gathered ball of bluebell flames resting on the palm of his hand. he held the ball of fire up closer to his face, the dancing flames reflected in his eyes.

“This is the part I always struggle with,” he told Gellert, and began murmuring a string of words under his breath so quickly, they began flowing together in one long, mellifluous melody. The bluebell flames slowly began to lighten, turning green, then yellow, then orange, and finally burning a deep scarlet, a fire more potent and dangerous than any ordinary one could be.

There was something hypnotizingly beautiful about the fire. It swayed and bent easily to the wind’s wild rampage, yet looked as though it would never burn out.

“Gubraithian Fire,” Gellert said, and Albus thought he detected a note of carefully concealed admiration in his voice.

“It’s not truly everlasting,” he amended, regarding his own work critically. “This leaf will continue burning for a few days, before dying. But yes, my goal is to, eventually, succeed in creating everlasting fire.”

“May I?” Gellert’s eyes glittered against the brightness of the fire.

“Of course.” Albus carefully passed the leaf he held between his fingers to Gellert, noting that it was already blackening slightly.

Their hands became entangled slightly in the exchange; Albus looked up and inadvertently met Gellert’s gaze, which was unabashedly fixated and staring. He gazed into the golden eyes steadily, though he felt his chest tighten slightly in the heat of that gaze.

“Beautiful,” Gellert murmured as he regarded the ball of fire. While he continued to study it, Albus’ eyes rested upon Gellert’s form, his profile still and silent in his attentiveness, his golden curls ablaze in the light of the fire, and his eyes like twin mirrors, reflecting the flickering flames within. It struck Albus that the fire was oddly befitting of Gellert as a wizard; mesmerizing, and dangerous, and like Gubraithian Fire, never endingly fiery…

“What are you thinking?” Gellert asked, looking up and catching Albus’ eyes.

“How fortunate it was of me to stumble across your company today,” Albus said unthinkingly.

Gellert straightened up, smiling. He held out the ball of fire to Albus, who took it wordlessly. “Teach me.”

Albus cocked his head to the side, his eyes questioning.

“Teach me how to create everlasting fire,” Gellert clarified. His eyes glowed invitingly in the luminescence of the blazing fire.

Albus laughed uncomfortably. “I am not a teacher. And besides, I haven’t yet mastered this spell myself.”

“We can learn together.”

Albus paused, looking closely at Gellert over the top of his spectacles. Inexplicably, he liked the sound of “together”. He liked the way Gellert said it, the word sounding warm and agreeable on his tongue. “Together,” he repeated, smiling. “Yes, we can learn together.”

***

Albus stepped back into the grove of underwood and opted to simply observe Gellert as he murmured quietly to a burning twig that he’d enchanted. A content smile slowly settling on his features, he noticed an expression on Gellert’s face that felt very familiar somehow-- he’d seen it before, somewhere. Something in that wild, gleeful face told Albus that Gellert _knew_ just how extraordinary he was, that whilst performing magic he was keenly aware of just how exceptional he was, and was enamored with his own brilliance-- exalted by it.

The wild exuberance was something one might see on a child’s face when they see themselves do magic for the first time. _How incredibly vain,_ he thought privately, but for some reason, it didn’t bother him. The candid delight in his face made Albus smile a bit. It reminded him of the time when Ariana did magic for the first time. She’d been just four years old, a little sprite flitting about amongst Kendra’s rose garden. They were only buds at the time, but Ariana ran about trailing her fingers over the little buds, making them bloom into transient scarlet fires and then close in on themselves again. She had been laughing, her laughter pure and unhindered as only a child’s could be. And that expression! Albus remembered it lucidly, the open astonishment so honest and--

_Ariana!_ Albus came to from his thoughts with a jolt. He looked about his surroundings, vaguely panicked, and saw that the nighttime faeries had come out for an evening dance with the glittering dragonflies; the sky was indigo blue. And Albus had been away from the house for the entire day!

He pushed himself off from the tree he was leaning against and walked quickly to fetch his cloak from where he’d abandoned it on the meadow’s bed of grass.

As he was fastening the last of the silver fastenings, he felt a presence behind him. A long shadow cast over him, shrouding his line of sight with darkness.

“You are leaving?”

It’s become so dark, Albus thought, as he struggled to see his fingers in the dimness. In response to his thoughts, the wand tucked in his cloak lit up with bright silver light. He buckled up the last fastening and responded, “I’m afraid so. I hadn’t realized that nightfall had fallen.” Albus turned around to face the boy behind him and couldn’t help but smile. “I was enjoying myself too thoroughly.”

“Oh?”

There was that smile again. The same childlike eagerness, laced with an appraising gleam in the eyes. In that moment, Albus understood that Gellert was just as impressed with him as he was with himself. At the realization, warmth shot down through his core. 

“Indeed. I do wish I could stay longer, but I imagine my brother and s--” Albus caught himself just in time. There was a short pause. He nervously pushed his spectacles back up his nose. “My brother is likely wondering of my whereabouts, and I need to prepare dinner for him. He’s underage, as you know. He can’t use magic yet.”

“I understand,” said Gellert easily. Albus wondered if he’d noticed his little slip earlier. “Your brother… he didn’t seem too taken with me at the time of my visit.”

Albus laughed, relieved that Gellert had not noticed, or if he had, chose not to press on. “I do apologize for that! If it makes you feel any better, he’s not terribly taken with me either.”

Gellert chuckled. “It’s of no importance to me what he thinks.”

Albus shook his head, smiling. “He’s a good lad, very passionate. Sometimes too much so.”

“But it matters very much to me what you think, on the other hand.”

“What-- I…?”

“What you think of me, yes.” Even now, there was no nervousness in his voice, no look of carefully masked hope. Only self assurance, as though he already knew the answer. Albus didn’t doubt it.

Perhaps because of that, he decided to be honest. “I think you are very interesting,” Albus said quietly. “And I like you very much.” _Perhaps against my better judgment,_ he thought in his mind.

“Then, we are friends?”

“Friends.” Albus said, smiling. The word felt natural to say. “Yes, we are friends.”

“Then, shall we meet again sometime soon?”

“I’d be happy too.”

“Will you come by Aunt Bathilda’s tomorrow afternoon? I have so many things I want to show you.”

“Certainly. Professor Bagshot won’t mind having me?”

Gellert shrugged. “It doesn’t matter. But I can’t see any reason why not.”

“I see. Well, good night. Will you stay longer?”

“Yes. It’s too bad you must go.”

“Yes, well…” Albus suddenly felt quite dispirited. In his haste to get back home, he’d forgotten the reason why he’d left it that afternoon to begin with. He pictured Aberforth scowling at him as he walked through the front door, demanding where he’d been, and internally winced.

“I will see you tomorrow, then.” Gellert called over his shoulder, sauntering off towards the edge of the forest.

“Tomorrow,” Albus confirmed. It dawned upon him that, for the first time in a long time, he had something to look forward to and felt his spirits soar at the thought.

_What a interesting day it’s been,_ he thought, as he ambled through the Fairy Forest, his wand lighting his way.

The vial full of black liquid lay forgotten in his pocket.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> There you are! Their second meeting. Tell me your thoughts, for I'm pining after them! (seriously though) Likes and dislikes and all that jazz! I'm sticking to my two week schedule, so yep unless I happen to get into a freak accident next chapter should be out in two weeks time! In the meantime, let me know what you think :)

**Author's Note:**

> Any feedback, of any sort, is greatly appreciated.


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